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Updated: June 8, 2025
But before I had time to say more, Atherley in his smoking-coat looked in to see if I was coming or not. "Don't keep Mr. Lyndsay up late, George," said my kind hostess; "he looks so tired." "You look dead beat," he said later on, in his own particular and untidy den, as he carefully stuffed the bowl of his pipe.
Monk has never had anything from the parish, and been working hard all his life, and he is past seventy. He was breaking stones on the road a few weeks ago; but he caught a chill or something one very cold day, and has been laid up ever since. This is the house. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, you should not trouble to get out. As you are so kind, will you carry this in?"
Lyndsay and Caroline than of any other human beings always appeared sullen or out of spirits when they were absent; yet she confided to them no more than she did to her father. You would suppose from this description that Matilda could inspire no liking in those with whom she lived. Not so; her very secretiveness had a sort of attraction a puzzle always creates some interest.
"Perhaps you are one of those who do not believe in the punishment of sin?" "Who can disbelieve it, Mrs. Mostyn? Call it what we like, it is a fact. It confronts us on every side. We might as well refuse to believe in death." "It is not that I meant! I was talking of punishment in the next world, Mr. Lyndsay." "Well, there, too, no doubt it must continue, until the uttermost farthing is paid.
She would never tell me anything about it." "Would she tell me?" "I am afraid not. I don't think she would tell any one, except perhaps Mr. Lyndsay. He has a way of worming things out of people." "Mr. Lyndsay, how do you worm things out of people?" "I don't know, Denis; you must ask your father."
For a time she was tortured, in every society she entered, by speculation and gossip which brought before her the memory of his genius, the accusing sound of his name. But him who withdraws from the world, the world soon forgets; and by degrees Darrell became as little spoken of as the dead. Mrs. Lyndsay had never, during her schemes on Lord Montfort, abandoned her own original design on Darrell.
Lyndsay, you must go back and drink some coffee; you are not strong as I am, or accustomed to go out fasting into the morning air." Outside in the shadow of the hill, where the fog lay thick and white, the gloom and the cold of the night still lingered, but as we climbed the hill we climbed, too, into the brightness of a sunny morning brilliant, amber-tinted above the long blue shadows.
Lyndsay, and squeak so funnily when you pull their tails." "Oh, but I can't have my pigs unkindly treated." "Not unkindly, auntie," cried Denis, swinging affectionately upon my arm; "we only just tried to make their tails go straight, you know. And, Mr. Lyndsay, there is such a dear little baby calf." "But I want to give apples to the horses," cried Harold.
Jasper undertook that the Parisienne should show herself at her balcony at a certain day at a certain hour, and that at that hour Darrell should call and be admitted; and Mrs. Lyndsay allowed that that evidence would suffice.
"I s'pose you are tired because you always have to pull your leg after you," said Denis, turning upon me two large topaz-coloured eyes. "Does it hurt you, Mr. Lyndsay?" "Mother told you not to talk about Mr. Lyndsay's leg," observed Harold sharply. "No, she didn't; she said I was not to talk about the funny way he walked. She said " "Well, never mind, little man," I interrupted.
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