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Updated: June 26, 2025
"I think he ought to. I make sacrifices for him. Though I've heard of those you make I don't see them." Mrs. Moreen stared a moment; then with emotion she grasped her inmate's hand. "Will you make it the sacrifice?" He burst out laughing. "I'll see. I'll do what I can. I'll stay a little longer.
Phoebe, it must be allowed, had a good cry when she got within the shelter of her own room, which had been very carefully prepared for her, with everything that was necessary for comfort, according to her grandmother's standard; but where the "tent" bed hung with old-fashioned red and brown chintz, and the moreen curtains drooping over the window, and the gigantic flowers on the carpet, made Phoebe's soul sick within her.
The gondola was for the ladies, as in Venice too there were "days," which Mrs. Moreen knew in their order an hour after she arrived. She immediately took one herself, to which the Dorringtons never came, though on a certain occasion when Pemberton and his pupil were together at St.
The vanished aunt was present, as he looked about him, in the small complacencies of the room, the beaded velvet and the fluted moreen; and though, as we know, he had the worship of the Dead, he found himself not definitely regretting this lady.
Moreen now listened to him, as he listened to every one and to every thing, like a man of the world, and seemed to appeal to him though not of course too grossly to try and be a little more of one himself. Pemberton recognised in fact the importance of the character from the advantage it gave Mr. Moreen.
Moreen had a white moustache, a confiding manner and, in his buttonhole, the ribbon of a foreign order bestowed, as Pemberton eventually learned, for services. For what services he never clearly ascertained: this was a point one of a large number that Mr. Moreen's manner never confided. What it emphatically did confide was that he was even more a man of the world than you might first make out.
Tell me now from the cards that I shall have a pretty little wife; a wife beautiful and amiable as Cousin Louise. Louise Blue? It is a pretty color; but I almost like green better. Landed Proprietor Well, that's very droll; it suits exceedingly well. At Oestanvik my drawing-room furniture is blue; beautiful light-blue satin. But in my bedroom I have green moreen. Cousin Louise, I believe really
"I should misrepresent you grossly if I accused you of common honesty!" our friend replied; but as he closed the door behind him sharply, thinking he had not done himself much good, while Mr. Moreen lighted another cigarette, he heard his hostess shout after him more touchingly: "Oh you do, you do, put the knife to one's throat!" The next morning, very early, she came to his room.
The man had by this time lighted a lamp, at the wick of which he had been working for some time, and taking the bottle of wine, he led the way into the back part of the saloon, where was a door partially concealed by red moreen hangings. He shoved aside the curtain, and passed into a long vestibule, elegantly furnished, with doors opening on each side, not unlike the state-rooms of a steamboat.
Thomasson had brought her back; he had wedded her at Calne, the reverend gentleman himself performing the ceremony with a curtain-ring at a quarter before midnight, in the presence of two chambermaids, in a room hung with drab moreen. Sir George's servant had brought her back; he was the rogue in the play; it was Lady Harriet Wentworth and footman Sturgeon over again.
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