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Updated: May 26, 2025
Malcomson in to hear the letter read. "Edith is quite, quite mad," she said, unconsciously choosing the poor girl's own expression; "and the most horrible part of it is, she knows it herself. She wants to do the most dreadful things, and all the time she feels as much horror of such deeds as we should. My aunt says her sufferings are too terrible to describe.
Put me into communication with your friends " "And you will join us yourself, Evadne?" Mrs. Malcomson exclaimed. "Certainly I shall!" she answered emphatically. Then all at once something flashed through her mind. "Heaven!" she exclaimed. "I had forgotten! I cannot I cannot join you. I have given my word to do nothing so long as Colonel Colquhoun is alive."
There was one man who knew exactly when the thing had occurred, who the characters were, and all about it. "Nunc dimittis!" said Mrs. Malcomson when she heard the story; "for the same thing has been said of the author of any book of consequence that has ever appeared." And naturally she was somewhat puffed up. But it remained for Mrs. Guthrie Brimston to cap the criticisms.
Malcomson belonged to a somewhat different order of being. She had a strong and handsome face with regular features; a proud mouth, slightly sarcastic in expression; and dark gray eyes given to glow with fiery enthusiasm. Her hair was dark brown, but showed those shades of red in certain lights which betoken an energetic temperament, and good staying power.
When Evadne was inclined to rail she would say: "Pity the wicked people, my dear, pity them. Pity does more good in the world than blame, however well deserved. You may soften a sinner by pitying him, but never by hard words; and once you melt into the mood of pity yourself, you will be able to endure things which would otherwise drive you mad." Mrs. Malcomson helped her too.
Malcomson was not there, but the Colquhouns and Sillengers were, and other friends of hers, kindly disposed, cultivated people, who spoke well of her, and were all agreed in their praise of her work. Mrs. Guthrie Brimston stiffened as she listened to their remarks, but held her peace for a time, with thin lips compressed, and rising ire apparent. "I cannot class the book," said Colonel Sillenger.
But what I do think objectionable is the way in which women are putting themselves forward " "You are right, there," said Mrs. Sillenger. "I think myself that men might be allowed to continue to monopolize the right of impudent self-assertion." "But do not lend yourself to the silencing system any longer, Mr. St. John," Mrs. Malcomson implored.
Indeed, she and Malcomson, the gardener, were the only two individuals in the squire's establishment who were not Catholics. Malcomson was a manoeuvrer, and, as is pretty usual with individuals of his class and country, he looked upon "Papistry" as an abomination that ought to be removed from the land.
Come, Sir Robert, we will have a mouthful to eat, and something good to wash it down; come along, man. what the devil are you scrutinizing poor old Robinson Crusoe for? Come along. I say, the old chap is making the green-house thrive; he beats Malcomson. Here. Malcomson, you know Sir Robert Whitecraft, don't you?" "Hout, your honor, wha' disna ken Sir Robert Whitecraft?
"There's five thirteens for you, and I wish to God, my good fellow, that you would allow yourself to be put in better feathers." "Oh, I expect my pinance will be out before a mont', shir; but, until den, I couldn't take any money." "Malcomson," said he to the gardener, "I think that fellow's a half fool. I offered him a crown, and also said.
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