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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Yes?" said Malling. "There are four of them, our friend Chichester being the senior one." "And you have 'placed' them all?" "I thought I had, I thought so but " Mr. Harding was silent. Then, with a strange abruptness, and the air of a man forced into an action against which something within him protested, he said: "Mr.
When Malling had finished what he had to say, the professor, who had interrupted him two or three times to ask pertinent questions, put his hands on his knees and thrust his head forward. "You said you wanted advice," he said. "What about?" "I wish you to advise me how I had better proceed." "You really think the matter important?" asked the professor. Malling looked slightly disconcerted.
But from the first time I met her I meant to marry her. And as I dominated others, I completely dominated her. But she, once married to me, was desperately anxious that I should rise in the world, in order that her choice of me might be justified in the eyes of her people. You can understand the position, I dare say?" "Perfectly," said Malling.
One was the widow of the late Silas Malling, and the other was the school-ma'am from the Leonville school-house. This good lady rejoiced in the name of Gurridge, and Mrs. Gurridge was the oldest friend of Hephzibah Malling, a fact which spoke highly for the former good dame's many excellent qualities. Hephzibah was not a woman to set her affections on her sex without good reason.
And man was to him the great mystery, because man contained surely something that belonged to, that was lent to, man, as it were, by another, the mind beyond, the anima mundi. When Malling drew mentally, or spiritually, very near to any man, however rude, however humble, he always had the feeling that he was approaching holy ground.
The uneasy, almost sinister noise of rain in darkness entered the room, with the soft smell of moisture. "Do you mind if we have a little air?" he added. "I should like it," said Malling. Chichester came back and sat down again opposite Malling. His expression had now quite changed. He looked calmer, gentler, weaker, and much more uninteresting.
The curate shifted in his armchair, clasped and unclasped his hands. A mental struggle was evidently going on within him. Indeed, during the whole evening Malling had received from him a strong impression of combat, of confusion. "I wanted to continue the discussion we began at Mr. Harding's the other day. You remember, I asked you not to tell him you were coming?" "Yes."
This remark struck Malling as in such singularly bad taste considering where they were, and that one of them was Mr. Harding's guest, the other his curate that only his secret desire to make obscure things clear prevented him from resenting it. "It is one of the curses of the Church," continued Chichester, "this passion for authority, for ruling, for having all men under one's feet as it were.
And at moments the whole man seemed to be wrapped in weakness like a garment, the soul and the body of him. Then, as a light may dwindle till it seems certain to go out, all that was Marcus Harding seemed to Malling to dwindle. The large body, the powerful head and face, meant little, almost nothing, because the spirit was surely fading. But these moments passed.
Now the professor's "What is it?" was not general, but particular, and was at once understood to be so by Malling. It did not mean "Why have you come?" but "Why are you obsessed at this moment, and by what?" "Let's have the mystery," he added, leaning his elbows on his just dried manuscript, and resting his sharp little chin on his doubled fists.
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