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Updated: May 1, 2025
Helen Thurwell glanced through her share without finding anything interesting. Tennis parties, archery meetings, a bazaar fête; absolutely nothing fresh. She was so tired of all that sort of thing tired of eternally meeting the same little set of people, and joining in the same round of so-called amusements. There was nothing in Northshire society which attracted her.
"You are instructed to conduct a party of 100 Northshire Highlanders, who are in 'S' Camp, which is over there," and he waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the typewriter in the corner of the room. These are your instructions, and, after a prolonged hunt for "S" Camp, you march off to the station at the head of a hundred Scotchmen, not one of whom you can understand.
At dinner-time she and her father met again, and when he entered the room he had two slips of orange-colored paper in his hand. "Well, what news?" she inquired. He handed the telegrams to her without a word, and she glanced them through. The first was from the bankers. "To Guy Davenant Thurwell, Esq., Thurwell Court, Northshire. "We consider Mr.
Brown a desirable tenant for you from a pecuniary point of view. We know nothing of his family." The other one was from his lawyers. "To Guy D. Thurwell, Esq., Thurwell Court, Northshire. "Mr. Brown is a gentleman of means, and quite in a position to rent 'Falcon's Nest. We are not at liberty to say anything as to his antecedents or family." "What am I to do?" asked Mr. Thurwell, undecidedly.
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