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Updated: June 19, 2025
And over the unhallowed, half-abandoned table, flushed slightly with Majendie's good wine, the Canon drew up his chair to his host, and stretched his little legs, and let his spirit expand in a rosy, broad humanity. As he had charmed the spiritual woman he saw in Anne, so he laid himself out to flatter the natural man he saw in Majendie.
The part which she had rehearsed with such ease in her own bedroom was impossible in Mrs. Majendie's drawing-room. She was charmed by the spirit of the place, constrained by its suggestion of fair observances, high decencies, and social suavities. She could not sit there and tell Mrs. Majendie that her husband had been unfaithful to her. You do not say these things.
You never did." "I would give everything if I could understand now." "Yes, if you could. But can you?" "I've tried very hard. I've prayed to God to make me understand." Poor Hannay was embarrassed at the name of God. He fell to contemplating his waistcoat buttons in profound abstraction for a while. Then he spoke. "Look here, Mrs. Majendie. Poor Walter always said you were much too good for him.
She is unmoved undaunted. "She was not wanting in respect." His tone is hurried. This woman with the remorseless eye is too much for the gentle professor. "All she does want is change, amusement. She is young. Youth must enjoy." "In moderation and in proper ways," says Miss Majendie stonily. "In moderation," she repeats mechanically, almost unconsciously.
Whatever she's makes of Mr. Majendie, she's bent on making a martyr of herself." Miss Proctor met the vague eyes of her circle with a glance that was defiance to all mystery. "It's quite simple. This marriage is a short cut to canonisation, that's all." Then it was that little Mrs. Gardner spoke.
Whereupon Topsy wept feebly, and poor Toodles had a moment of monstrous calm. She wanted to get it quite clear, to make no mistake. They might as well give her the details. Majendie had left his wife, had he? Well, she wasn't surprised at that. The wonder was that, having married her, he had stuck to her so long. He had left his wife, and was living at Scarby, was he, with her?
Anne raised her face to his and closed her eyes, and Majendie felt her soft lips touch his forehead without parting. That night, when he refused his supper, she looked up anxiously. "Are you not well, Walter?" "I've got a splitting headache." "You'd better take some anti-pyrine." "I'm damned if I'll take any anti-pyrine." "Well, don't, dear; but you needn't be so violent." "I beg your pardon."
The great French surgeon, Majendie, is even said to have commenced his official course of lectures on one occasion by coolly saying to his students: "Gentlemen, the curing of disease is a subject that physicians know nothing about." This was doubtless an extreme way of putting the case. Yet it was in a certain sense exactly true.
And Majendie leaned back in his chair, and gazed at the Canon, the remarkable, the clever, the versatile little Canon, with half-closed eyelids veiling his contemptuous eyes. Anne heard nothing more of Mr. Gorst for over a fortnight. It was on a Saturday, and Majendie asked her suddenly, during luncheon, if she thought the Eliotts would be disengaged that evening. "Why?" "Very well.
Majendie. I want to help you, but I'm afraid of hurting you." "Nothing can hurt me now." "Well " He pondered again. "If you want to get down to the root of it, it's as simple as hunger and thirst." "Hunger and thirst," she murmured. "It's what I've been trying to tell you. When you're not thirsty you don't think about drinking. When you are thirsty, you do.
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