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"I believe," said Graham, after a pause, "that I comprehend your sentiment much better than I do Mrs. Morley's opinions; but permit me one observation.
I had been working along the lines of a fixed idea. Now that idea had been knocked into a cocked hat, and my intellect had been knocked with it. "Why why, no," I repeated, stupidly. "Francis Morley is the son of Strickland Morley." "There was no son," impatiently. "I am Frances Morley, I tell you. I am Strickland Morley's daughter. I wrote that letter."
Some history, some sociology, some Spencer, some Huxley, some Haeckel, a small textbook of geology, a considerable proportion of pure literature, Morley's edition of lives of literary men, the English essayists in a nice set, Shakespeare in many forms and so much poetry that at a glance his library was all poetry.
"We will have a pinochle tournament, and Noah and I will beat the home team on its own ground. Won't we, Noah?" But Noah did not hear her; he was absorbed in watching Connie who stood on tiptoe, pinning a flower in Don Morley's buttonhole. For the next month little else was talked about but Donald Morley's trial.
But for the good Samaritan of a luggage train I must last night have camped beneath the canopy of heaven. No scarcity of fun in Ireland which beats the world for sparkling incident. No. 14. The fruits of Gladstonian rule are ripening fast. Mr. Morley's visit to Cork en route for Dublin corresponds with Inspector Moriarty's visit to the Irish capital. Mr.
Hudibras, in Morley's Universal Library; Poetical Works, edited by Johnson; Dowden's Essay, supra. Pepys. The Restoration Drama. Plays in the Mermaid Series; Hazlitt's Lectures on the English Comic Writers; Meredith's Essay on Comedy and the Comic Spirit; Lamb's Essay on the Artificial Comedy; Thackeray's Essay on Congreve, in English Humorists.
Briggs and the maid. "Oh!" said the third voice, with a little catch in it. "Who is it, please? Who is it? What is the person's name?" Mrs. Briggs scowled at me. "Wat's your name?" she snapped. "My name is Knowles. I am an American relative of Mr. Morley's and I'm here in answer to a letter written by Mr. Morley himself." There was a moment's silence.
"Why, Miss Florence, that 'ud be too bad, afther bein' that good in yer heart, to let the poor folks alone for fear of goin' to them. But ye needn't do that, for, now I think of it, there's John Morley's wife." "What, the gardener father turned off for drinking?" "The same, miss. Poor boy, he's not so bad, and he's got a wife and two as pretty children as ever you see."
"Engagement of marriage? No period for the ceremony fixed?" "That is not my fault. I urged it on Isaura with all earnestness before I left my father's house." "That was long after the siege had begun. Listen to me, Gustave. No persuasion of mine or my wife's, nor Mrs. Morley's, could induce Isaura to quit Paris while it was yet time.
But I am going to do it anyhow. It is perfectly simple. And when I get over I shall write and tell you how. It was the next day that an indignant official in the censor's office read that postscript, and rose in his wrath and sent a third Undersomething-or-other to look up Sara Lee at Morley's.
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