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Updated: June 1, 2025
Harvey could not look forward to complete enjoyment of the holiday, for by this time Cecil Morphew had succumbed to his old habits of tossing indolence, and only pretended to look after his business. If Harvey withdrew, the shop must either be closed or pass into other hands. Pecuniary loss was the least vexatious part of the affair.
"It appears to me that my father is always busy," I said hastily. Morphew then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent. "A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion," he said.
Probably he remembered from time to time that she had never told him how her business with Dymes was settled. No more duplicity. The money would be paid, and therewith finis to that dragging chapter of her life. Harvey came home at five o'clock, and, as usual, had tea with her. Of late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose story Alma knew; today he spoke more hopefully.
The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not been able to understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. Morphew, and was expressed in these words: "Let me sincerely thank you for making us acquainted with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel as if we had said good-bye to an old friend.
'What's wrong? Something more than usual, I know. Make a clean breast of it. Morphew continued to declare that he was only low-spirited from the longstanding causes, and, though Rolfe did not believe him, nothing more could at present be elicited. The talk turned to photography, but still had no life in it. 'I think you had better dine with me this evening, said Harvey. 'Impossible.
Morphew already has a wife. I should be guilty of a crime if I married him. With a desperate ejaculation, Rolfe crushed up the sheet of paper, and turned to other things. Whilst she was at Greystone, Alma heard again from Felix Dymes, his letter having been forwarded. He wrote that Mrs.
There was the question, proposed by Benjulia's inveterate suspicion of Ovid! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a day's work. He reviled poor Mr. Morphew as "a born idiot" for not having plainly stated what the patient's malady was, instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences, encumbered by long words.
Canon Morphew always started when any one spoke to him, being sunk all day deep in dreams of his own, dreams that had their birth somewhere in the heart of the misty dirty rooms where his books were piled ceiling-high and papers blew about the floor. "Good afternoon...good afternoon, Archdeacon. Pray forgive me. You came upon me unawares."
Philip!" "You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew." He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, "Master, sir, master don't let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master's not one to be managed. Don't you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God." The old man was quite pale. "Quarrel!" I said. "I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don't mean to begin now."
They were also supported and encouraged by Mr Randal, my second lieutenant, who was brother-in-law to Brooks, and by others. The first remarkable outrage committed by this gang of levellers was to Mr La Porte, my third lieutenant, whom Morphew knocked down on the beach, while Brooks stood by and witnessed this brutality.
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