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Updated: June 25, 2025
Do one thing or the other amuse yourself or learn Latin; but don't try to do both." Then he got a place in London, at a hundred and twenty a year. This seemed a fabulous sum. His mother doubted almost whether to rejoice or to grieve. "They want me in Lime Street on Monday week, mother," he cried, his eyes blazing as he read the letter. Mrs. Morel felt everything go silent inside her.
After supper William wanted to write a letter. "Here is your book, Lily," said Mrs. Morel. "Would you care to go on with it for a few minutes?" "No, thank you," said the girl. "I will sit still." "But it is so dull." William scribbled irritably at a great rate. As he sealed the envelope he said: "Read a book! Why, she's never read a book in her life." "Oh, go along!" said Mrs.
Struck in his turn by the noble appearance of Rudolph, and the dignity of his manner, the magistrate replied, "I do not doubt the probity of Morel; I only regret being compelled to fulfill a painful duty before you, sir, who have shown so lively an interest in this family." "What can you mean, sir?"
"Tha's niver knowed me but what I looked as if I wor goin' off in a rapid decline." She sat and laughed. "You've had a constitution like iron," she said; "and never a man had a better start, if it was body that counted. You should have seen him as a young man," she cried suddenly to Paul, drawing herself up to imitate her husband's once handsome bearing. Morel watched her shyly.
Some moments afterward, leaning on his wife and daughter, and accompanied by a medical student, who, as a matter of precaution, was to accompany them to Paris, Morel got into the carriage, and left Bicetre, without suspecting that he had been confined there as a lunatic.
"Rather, Chubby," she answered, at once in the intimate tones and putting her head slightly on one side. "I'll light her the candle, mother," he said. "Very well," replied the mother. Miss Western stood up, held out her hand to Mrs. Morel. "Good-night, Mrs. Morel," she said. Paul sat at the boiler, letting the water run from the tap into a stone beer-bottle.
Then, his fears newly awakened on the subject of Louise, Morel exclaimed: "Since you have heard all that passed, sir, say, say have I not a right to hate this man? And who knows, if my child, my Louise " He could not proceed; he hid his face with his hands. Rudolph understood his fears.
Some part, big and vital in him, she had no hold over; nor did she ever try to get it, or even to realise what it was. And he knew in some way that she held herself still as Mrs. Dawes. She did not love Dawes, never had loved him; but she believed he loved her, at least depended on her. She felt a certain surety about him that she never felt with Paul Morel.
Now, however, he made a toilet. There seemed so much gusto in the way he puffed and swilled as he washed himself, so much alacrity with which he hurried to the mirror in the kitchen, and, bending because it was too low for him, scrupulously parted his wet black hair, that it irritated Mrs. Morel. He put on a turn-down collar, a black bow, and wore his Sunday tail-coat.
The same instant Rudolph appeared at the door of the little recess, from whence he had, unseen, witnessed the greater part of the scenes we have just related. He was very pale, and deeply moved. At this sudden interposition, the bailiffs drew back with surprise; while Morel and his daughter stared at the prince vacantly.
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