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Updated: May 13, 2025
Oh, but it's untrue, it's indecent.... Look how he bends as they reach the gateway. She finds her ticket. What's the joke? Off they go, down the road, side by side.... Well, my world's done for! What do I stand on? What do I know? That's not Minnie. There never was Moggridge. Who am I? Life's bare as bone.
Moggridge looked at him sometimes with a sort of fear. It was about three in the morning when the door was softly opened by Mrs. Talbot. "Will you come now, and see our little girl?" she said, with a voice that could say no more. Theophil followed her, and, still in a dream, he stood in Jenny's room, grown strangely solemn and sweet since he was last there, was it a thousand years ago?
Moggridge. had "attended" elsewhere, but he was not so young as he had been and somewhat stouter, and the stealthy approach of comfortable habits had suggested to him that his old chapel was rather at an unnecessary distance. Then, too, the fact of his house being called after New Zion seemed to impose a sort of obligation towards the sad old chapel. Besides, Mr.
Moggridge with the rest, amid coral caves and seaweed, and in a curious green and shimmering light. But what a world of heart-break there was in her "Come, dear children, come away!" You felt you simply couldn't bear her to say it again.
Two minutes later Moggridge was sitting bound hand and foot in the booking office, addressing an amused audience in a strain of perhaps excusable exasperation, which however merely served to impress the Ashditch officials with a growing sense of their address in capturing so dangerous a lunatic.
When Theophil and Isabel returned from Zion, they seemed so full of real anxiety, as indeed they were, that Jenny's poor heart felt just a passing ray of warmth, a little less cast out into eternal loneliness. She gave the same explanation as to Mr. Moggridge, not significantly, but half intending a kind veiled message to them.
“You’d ’ave given me a lead all round the county if them gates ’ad been open.” “It might have been difficult to stop this fiery animal,” Mr Beveridge admitted. “But now, Moggridge, the run is over. I think I can take Lady Alicia’s horse back to her myself.” Moggridge smiled grimly. “You won’t let go?” “No fears.”
“Five to one on the blank things being shut,” he muttered. He swept round the curve, and there ahead of him he saw the gates grimly closed, and at the lodge door a dismounted groom, standing beside his horse. Only remarking “Damn!” he reined up, turned, and trotted quietly back again. Presently he met Moggridge, red in the face, muddy as to his trousers, and panting hard.
Yes, it was beginning to move, indeed, it was almost beginning to hum another few months and it would fairly whizz, as Eli Moggridge had foreseen; and the sound of the humming and the speed of the whizzing would grow louder and louder and faster and faster, till not merely Zion Place and Zion Alley and Zion Passage and Zion Street heard it and were caught up in the infectious dance, but the very High Street itself should hum and whizz.
We used to meet under happier circumstances, and, don’t you know, it might distress her to be reminded of my misfortunes.” Such a reasonable request, beseechingly put by so fine a gentleman, could scarcely be refused. Moggridge retired behind the trees that lined the avenue, and Mr Beveridge advanced alone to meet the Lady Alicia. She blushed very becomingly as he raised his hat.
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