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Updated: May 23, 2025
I went the next day his messenger had given me a new address and found my friend lodged in a short sordid street in Marylebone, one of those corners of London that wear the last expression of sickly meanness. The room into which I was shown was above the small establishment of a dyer and cleaner who had inflated kid gloves and discoloured shawls in his shop-front.
"I have taken you, and I will stick by you, whether you are right or wrong. But when I think you wrong, I shall say so." He swore to her as he pressed her to his heart that she was the finest, grandest, sweetest woman that ever the world had produced. But still there was present on his palate, when he left her, the bitter taste of her reprimand. What the People in Marylebone Thought
Possibly, in the silence of her delightful little four-roomed flat over the tailor's shop in Marylebone Road, her sober, worthy maid dismissed for a holiday, she may have shed some tears; but, if so, no trace of them was allowed to mar the peace of mind of Mr. Peters. She merely thanked him for being frank with her, and by a little present pain saving them both a future of disaster.
The house is now a good deal altered and differently numbered, a portion of it having been destroyed in one of the 1917 air-raids, when the Marylebone Road was strewn with its broken glass for twenty yards. But in the winter of 1901-2 and onwards till 1914 it was a noted centre of social intercourse between Society and Science.
It was alarming to think that by crossing the Marylebone Road or migrating to Cambridge Terrace you had passed out of Society. It took the police a deuce of a time two months to make use effectively of the information contained in Mrs.
He remembered the bowed stumbling figure that had gone before him in the Marylebone meadows. Then he had been its enemy; now by a queer contortion of the mind he thought of himself as the only protector of that cold clay under the bed honoured in life, but in death a poor pawn in a rogue's cause. He stood a little apart from the others near the door, and his eyes sought it furtively.
I should have told you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary." "It's dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday afternoon she did leave her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes me think it really must be from Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise I should have my doubts," added Miss Fossett, as she folded up the letter and replaced it in her bag. "Id is love!" was the explanation of Dr.
And he had answered plaintively, querulously, "No, I can't say I feel well to-day, Mrs. Bunting. I am tired very tired. And as I lay in bed I seemed to hear so many sounds so much crying and shouting. I trust the Marylebone Road is not going to become a noisy thoroughfare, Mrs. Bunting?" "Oh, no, sir, I don't think that. We're generally reckoned very quiet indeed, sir."
When the child was five they came to London, taking 1 Devonshire Terrace, Marylebone Road the house which had been formerly occupied by Charles Dickens. Du Maurier remembered riding in the park, on a little pony, escorted by a groom, who led his pony by a strap.
He glanced at his orchids and at the red West Indian flowers, and he thought of those crawling green jungles from which they should have come, and smiled gently. Peace and good will! He went to dress. Meanwhile, in the Marylebone Road the lady of the feathers achieved her toilet, assisted by Jessie.
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