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Updated: June 16, 2025
Bother Mrs. Masham and Lutwyche! The latter, however, when assisting her young mistress to retire for the night an operation which takes two when a young lady of position is cast for the leading part was eloquent about the hot water, which she said no doubt prevailed, but appeared to her entirely unwarranted. Her account of the position redounded to her own credit.
The subsidies to Sweden, Hesse-Cassel, and Wolfen-buttle were continued, notwithstanding the remonstrances of sir Joseph Jekyll, Mr. Lutwyche, and Mr.
Starfield, the Countess's abettor in dressing, and Miss Lutwyche; the former having found herself forestalled in her theory of the argument in the Lib'ary, which she had reported as the cause of delay, by the latter's prompt expression of cautious reserve, and having accused her of throwing out hints and nothing to go upon.
Masham last thing last night, it was borne in upon me, Heaven knows how, that she had been in collision with Lutwyche about the old lady." "What is it you call her?" said Irene. "Old Mrs. Picture? There's nothing against her, is there?" Adrian had seemed to be considering a point.
She caught at the narration of her maid Lutwyche, prolonging her hair-combing for talk's sake. Lutwyche had the peculiarity of always accommodating her pronunciation to the class she was speaking with, elaborating it for the benefit of those socially above her. So her inquiry how the gentleman was getting on was accounted for by her having seen him from the guardian.
Buckstone was presenting a burlesque of that name just then, and her ladyship may have had it running in her head. "It wasn't a real headache only pretence. Come in here, mamma. I've something to say.... No I haven't rung for Lutwyche yet. She's all right. Come in and shut the door." "Why, girl, what's the matter? Why are you...?" "Why am I what?"
"They are firing at the Butts at Stamford Norton, my lady," said Lutwyche; who always knew things, sometimes rightly sometimes wrongly. This time, the latter. "Then the wind must have gone round. Besides, it would come again. Listen!" Thus her ladyship, and both listened. But nothing came again. Lady Gwendolen was as beautiful as usual that evening, but contrary to custom silent and distraite.
"Which is it, Lutwyche or Mrs. Masham?" said she. What it was that was either remained indeterminate. Mr. Norbury set himself to say which, without injustice to anyone concerned. He dropped his voice to show how unreservedly he was telling the truth, yet how reluctant he was that his words should be overheard at the other end of the Castle. "No blame attaches," said he, to clear the air.
"Oh well a of course I thought you were referring to ..." "Whom did you suppose I was referring to?" Aggressive equanimity here that can wait weeks, if necessary. "Torrens and my cousin Gwen! Be hanged if I can see why I shouldn't refer to them!" "Do so by all means. I wasn't, myself; but it doesn't matter. It was Nurse Bailey told Lutwyche, whom I borrow from Gwen sometimes, that Mr.
Let it tell its own tale, even though we begin on the fifth page. "I must pause now to see what sort of a bed Lutwyche has managed to arrange for me, and ring Maggie up if it isn't comfortable. Not but what I am ready to rough it a little, rather than that the old lady should be moved.
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