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Updated: July 24, 2025
But going once noiselessly through the hall, she glanced in and saw the colonel sitting alone by the window, Mary Nellen's Virgil in his hand. He was well back from the glass, and Lydia guessed that it was because he wanted to command the orchard and not himself be seen. She ran up to her own room and also looked.
Lydia thought this yearning of his for the complete and perfect was because he was old. She felt quite capable of taking Jeff's life as it was, and fitting it together in a striking pattern. "Come in, Farvie," she said. "You haven't corrected Mary Nellen's translation."
He went out without seeing anybody, the colonel, he knew, being at his gentle task of cramming for Mary Nellen's evening lesson. Jeff had not been in the street since the walk he had cut short with Madame Beattie.
She turned away from him, and immediately whirled back again. "I've got to do it carefully. You stay here." But in the library where the colonel sat over Mary Nellen's last classic riddle, she couldn't break it at all. "He's come," she said. The colonel got up and Virgil slid to the floor. "Where is he?" he called, in a sharp voice. It was a voice touched with age and apprehension.
The colonel, downstairs, sat in a determined patience over Mary Nellen's linguistic knots, what time he was awake long enough to tackle them, and wished Jeff would bring down his work where he could be glanced at occasionally even if he were not to be spoken to.
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