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Updated: May 4, 2025
There was nothing in his vivid aspect of Peter Margerison's gentle philosophy of acquiescence; he looked as if he would to the end dictate terms to life rather than accept them an attitude combined oddly with a view which regarded the changes and chances of circumstance as more or less irrelevant to life's vital essence.
"You see," said Denis, "I doubt about Peter or the baby benefiting by anything we give them. It will all go down the drain where Hilary Margerison's money flows away. Give it to Peter or give it to his relations, it'll come to the same thing. Peter gives them every penny he gets, I don't doubt.
Margerison's too well, too nice, to put it simply to give himself to another person, body and soul, like that. It's squandering." "And irritates you," she reflected, but merely said, "Is squandering always a bad thing, I wonder?" It was at this point that Peter and Urquhart came in.
Peter would have understood the love; the thing he would not have understood was the feeling that had flung her on the tide of reaction at Mr. Margerison's feet. Mr. Margerison was a hard liver and a tremendous giver. Both these things had come to mean a great deal to Sylvia Urquhart much more than they had meant to the girl Sylvia Hope.
During the first week of Peter Margerison's first term at school, Urquhart suddenly stepped, a radiant figure on the heroic scale, out of the kaleidoscopic maze of bemusing lights and colours that was Peter's vision of his new life. Peter, seeing Urquhart in authority on the football field, asked, "Who is it?" and was told, "Urquhart, of course," with the implication "Who else could it be?"
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