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Updated: June 28, 2025
Marrapit's only child, was nineteen; of sallow complexion, petite, pretty; with large brown eyes in which sat always a constant quest an entreaty, a wistful yearning. Hers was a clinging nature, readily responsive to the attraction of any stouter mind. Enthusiasm was in this girl, but it lay well-like not as a spring.
I shall get eleven pounds at the quarter? if I pass, fifteen?" Horror widened Mr. Marrapit's eyes; shrilled his voice: "What is the colossal sum you anticipate?" "I thought you said fifty-two pounds a year-a pound a week." "A monstrous impression. Adjust it. Four pounds a quarter is the sum. You will have no needs. It errs upon the side of liberality I desire to be liberal."
Fletcher and Frederick the sward is exquisitely trimmed and rolled; and their labours join with the wire netting to make the lawn a safe and pleasant exercise ground for Mr. Marrapit's cats. Back in the days of Mr. Marrapit's first occupancy of Herons' Holt, this man was a mighty amateur breeder of cats, and a rare army of cats possessed.
How well they know you suffer!" "They do?" A tremble of pleasure was in Mr. Marrapit's voice. "They does do." Mrs. Major recited their day, gave their menu. "I must not tarry," she concluded; "you need rest. Good night, Mr. Marrapit. Good night." "Good night, Mrs. Major." Mr. Marrapit put out his candle.
Marrapit's natural reply to give in exchange the sum he had that afternoon so violently refused. At the least, he could not refuse to lend it. Early in his brooding George had decided he must not tell his Mary. First, it would be cruel to set her upon the rack of acting a part before Mr.
Marrapit's eyes; slam of the front door jerked him in his seat; wheels, hoofs along the drive drew his gaze to the window. A cab rolled past a melancholy horse; a stout driver, legs set over a corded box; a black figure, bolt upright, handkerchief to eyes. The vision passed. Mr. Marrapit gazed upwards; his thin lips moved.
It was Mr. Marrapit's wise rule that each member of his establishment should pass before him as he or she sought their chambers. Night is the hour when the thoughts take on unbridled licence; and he would send his household to sleep each with some last admonition to curb fantastic wanderings of the mind. Upon this night Mr.
George told himself he must be prepared against the eventuality of his uncle failing to offer in public reward so large a sum as 500 pounds. That did not greatly distress. Best indeed if that sum were offered, but, failing it, it was upon Mr. Marrapit's gratitude that George ultimately reckoned. Surely when he "found" the cat it would be Mr.
First among the costly art and other treasures of his house he placed a magnificent orange cat, "The Rose of Sharon," a winner whenever exhibited. The gang, bursting their way into the house, had stolen this cat, despite Mr. Marrapit's heroic defence, leaving the unfortunate gentleman senseless and bleeding on the hearth-rug. Mr.
Fletcher, his gardener, gloomy over his beer in the bar-parlours, seems to support the "stinginess" that the vicar has determined in Mr. Marrapit's character. Mr. Fletcher, for example, has lugubriously shown what has to be put up with when in the service of a man who had every inch of the grounds searched because a threepenny bit had been dropped.
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