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Updated: June 7, 2025
Peter's affection for Hilary had always been and always would be an unreasoning, loyal, unspoilably tender thing. He went to the station to help Hilary to catch his train. The enterprise was a failure; it was not a job at which either Margerison was good. They had to wait in the detestable station for another. There were certainly points about young Peter as a companion for the desperate.
Margerison, a clergyman, who was also already father of one son, and became Peter's father later. "I live with my uncle too," Urquhart said, and the fact formed a shadowy bond. But Peter's tone had struck a note of flatness that faintly indicated a lack of enthusiasm as to the ménage. This note was, to Peter's delicately attuned ears, absent from Urquhart's voice.
Peter Margerison hugged secretly his two pieces of knowledge; so secret they were, and so enormous, that he swelled visibly with them; there seemed some danger that they might even burst him. That great man was Urquhart. Urquhart was that great man. Put so, the two pieces of knowledge may seem to have a certain similarity; there was in effect a delicate discrimination between them.
"Now you'd better go to sleep; you'll be all right directly, if you're careful not to move it or lie on it or anything." Peter said he would be careful. He didn't at all want to move it or lie on it or anything. He lay and had waking visions of the popping rabbits. But they might pop as they liked; Peter hid a better thing in his inmost soul. Urquhart had said, "Sorry to hurt you, Margerison.
"Good-bye, Margerison." Denis was grave, embarrassed, restrained, and not unkind. It was obvious that he had nothing to say about it all. Peter left the Ca' delle Gemme. That afternoon Hilary received a note from Lord Evelyn.
Well, well, and to think I never guessed that all this time!" "Oh," said Miss Clegson, "I did, Mrs. Margerison; I had a very shrewd suspicion, I assure you. And this evening, when Mr.
Lucy, looking at his up-turned, foreshortened, cleanly-modelled face, thought with half of her mind what a perfect thing it was. Sudden aspects of Denis's beauty sometimes struck her breathless, as they struck Peter. "The Margerison family wants money, I understand," said Denis, who hadn't been listening attentively. "Very badly, Denis." Denis nodded.
Thankful for this lovely country set with pleasant towns and religious manners and nice people, and for the colour and smoothness of the sea we're going paddling in, and for our nice tea. Are you thankful, Thomas? Yes, I'm sure you are." Someone, passing behind them, said with surprise, "Is that you, Margerison?"
Then Peter recovered himself and said, "Oh don't be an ass, Hilary," and laughed dejectedly, and went up to finish putting Thomas to bed. In the carriage that rolled through the rain from Brook Street to Park Lane, Lord Evelyn Urquhart was saying, "This is the last time; the very last time. Never again do I try to help any Margerison.
I expect the egregious Hilary only wants the money for some new enterprise of his own, that will fail, as usual. Anyhow, I really don't fancy having any further dealings with Hilary Margerison or his wife; I've had enough there. He's the most impossible cad and swindler." "Swindlers all, swindlers all," said Lord Evelyn, getting up and pacing up and down the room, his hands behind his back.
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