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Updated: June 24, 2025
The last duel was fought by the old fountain out there one of the Merriweathers met one of the Paines. Merriweather was killed, and the girl died of a broken heart." "Then it was Merriweather that she loved?" "Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was killed in India. So nobody was happy, and all because there was, probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball.
The ballroom was octagonal, and canopied with a blue ceiling studded with silver stars. There were cupids with garlands on the side walls, and faded blue brocade hangings. Across one end of the ballroom was the long gallery reserved for those whom the Merriweathers still called "the tenantry," and it was here that Mary and Mrs. Flippin always sat after baking cakes. Mrs.
He found the pin and unwound the white cloth. "There," he said, drawing a long breath, "you look like yourself again. Yon were so austere, you scared me, Becky." He was again hugging his knees. "When are you going away?" "On the twenty-ninth. I shall stay over until next week for the Merriweathers' ball." "I didn't know whether you would feel equal to it." "I shall go on Mary's account.
I felt sorry about his killing the hens, because I loved them too." "I see," sighed the father. "Now there's Molly I call her Molly the Merry " "Who's Molly the Merry?" interrupted Singleton. "Old Merriweather's daughter. She's prettier than the summer roses, and they're pretty, believe me. Her smiles're warmer'n the sun." "Ah, yes! I remember the Merriweathers. Is the old man still alive?"
"If ever I write a book," she ejaculated, as she "stoked" the fire with Gwendolen and Reginald Merriweather, with the Mistress of the Manor, and especially with the romantic family servitor, "if ever I write a book," she repeated, with emphatic gestures, "it won't have any fibs in it; and I suppose it will be dull," she reflected, as she remembered how she had wept when the Merriweathers' Bridget brought her savings of a hundred pounds to her mistress in a handkerchief.
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