Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 1, 2025
You will admit that it is a little hard on a man who wants to live on good terms with the possessor of the Murewell library to have to open relations with him by a fierce attack on his drains and his pigsties. He turned to his companion with a half-rueful spark of laughter in his gray, eyes. Langham hardly caught what he said. He was far away in meditations of his own.
Oh, did you think when you came in just now before dinner that I didn't care, that I had a heart of stone? Did you think I had broken my solemn promise, my vow to you that day at Murewell? So I have, a hundred times over. I made it in ignorance; I had not counted the cost how could I? It was all so new, so strange. I dare not make it again, the will is so weak, circumstances so strong.
Rose turned directly she heard the steps and voices, and over the dreaminess of her face there flashed a sudden brightness. 'You have been a long time! she exclaimed, saying the first thing that came into her head, joyously, rashly, like the child she in reality was. 'How many halt and maimed has Robert taken you to see, Mr. Langham? 'We went to Murewell first. The library was well worth seeing.
'Ah! you think it so easy for these poor creatures to leave their homes their working places! Some of them have been there thirty years. They are close to the two or three farms that employ them, close to the osier beds which give them extra earnings in the spring. If they were turned out, there is nothing nearer than Murewell, and not a single cottage to be found there.
It was a year and a half since he had traveled it. He forgot his weakness, the exhausting pressure and publicity of his new work. The past possessed him, thrust out the present. Surely he had been up to London for the day and was going back to Catherine! At the station he hailed an old friend among the cabmen. 'Take me to the corner of the Murewell Lane, Tom.
And, by ill luck, with the morning came a long expected letter, not indeed from the Squire, but about the Squire. Robert had been for some time expecting a summons to Murewell. The Squire had written to him last in October from Clarens, on the Lake of Geneva. Since then weeks had passed without bringing Elsmere any news of him at all.
He hurried through the small town, where the streets were full of simmer idlers, and the lamps were twinkling in the still balmy air, along a dusty stretch of road, leaving man and his dwellings, farther and farther to the rear of him, till at last he emerged on a boundless tract of common, and struck to the right into a cart-track leading to Murewell.
She would smile and ask questions, and admire, and then when Robert had gone, she would move slowly to the window and look out at the great mass of the British Museum frowning beyond the little dingy strip of garden, with a sick longing in her heart for the Murewell cornfield, the wood-path, the village, the free air-bathed spaces of heath and common.
Ever since that Eastern journey he had kept an eye on the subjects which had interested him then, reading in his rapid voracious way all that came across him at Murewell, especially in the squire's foreign newspapers and reviews, and storing it when read in a remarkable memory.
Elsmere, described Robert's Oxford career, with an admirable sense for effect, and a truly feminine capacity for murdering every university detail, drew pictures of the Murewell living, and rectory, of which Robert had photographs with him, threw in adroit information about the young man's private means, and in general showed what may be made of a woman's mind under the stimulus of one of the occupations most proper to it.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking