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Updated: June 2, 2025
Poor Majendie's abstraction had combined with his appetite to make him deplorably slow over his dinner. She still sat watching him, pure from appetite, in resignation that veiled her contempt of the male hunger so incomprehensibly prolonged. He had come to dread more than anything those attentive, sacrificial eyes. "I'm awfully sorry," he said, "to keep you waiting." She rang the bell.
Majendie her knowledge of him, for she was not ill-natured. She was sorry for the poor, inept, unhappy prude. Even now, seated in Mrs. Majendie's drawing-room, she had no impulse to wound her mortally.
It held histories and standard works inherited from Majendie's father; the works of Dickens, and Thackeray, and Hardy, read over and over again in the days when he had time for reading; several poets whom, by his own confession, he could not have read in any circumstances. One Meredith, partly uncut, testified to an honest effort and a baulked accomplishment.
I've been revising my opinion of Majendie to-night. Between you and me, our friend the Canon is a very dangerous old woman. Don't you go and believe those tales he's told you." "I don't believe the tales," said Mrs. Gardner, "but I can't help believing poor Mrs. Majendie's face. That tells a tale, if you like." "Poor Mrs. Majendie's face is a face of poor Mrs.
He touched his cap to Majendie as they appeared on the bank, but he did not look at Maggie when her gentle voice called good-morning. Steve's face was close-mouthed and hard set. She put her hands on Majendie's shoulders and kissed him. Her cheek against his face was pure and cold, wet with the rain. Steve did not look at them. He never looked at them when they were together.
Always always. Why?" The doctor recalled his eyes from their examination of Mrs. Majendie's face. It was evident that there were some truths which she could not bear. "My dear Mrs. Majendie, there is no why, of course. That is in his favour. There seems to have been nothing in his previous history which would predispose to the attack." "Would a shock predispose him?" "A shock?"
She considered that she had found it in Majendie's habits, his silences, his moods, the facility of his decline upon the Hannays and the Ransomes. He was determined to deteriorate, to sink to their level. To-night, when he remarked tentatively that he thought he would dine at the Hannays', she made an effort to stop him. "Must you go?" said she. "You are always dining with them."
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