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Updated: May 11, 2025
Devine was to the eighty-one other younger novelists to whom he had been introduced at various hamlets throughout the country. Raymond Parsloe Devine bowed courteously, while Cuthbert, wedged into his corner, glowered at him. "The critics," said Mr. Devine, "have been kind enough to say that my poor efforts contain a good deal of the Russian spirit. I owe much to the great Russians.
A spasm of anguish flitted through all his nerve-centres as he saw that she was accompanied by Raymond Parsloe Devine. "Good morning, Mr. Banks," said Adeline. "Good morning," said Cuthbert hollowly. "Such good news about Vladimir Brusiloff." "Dead?" said Cuthbert, with a touch of hope. "Dead? Of course not. Why should he be?
Raymond Parsloe Devine hesitated for a moment, then, realizing his situation, turned and slunk to the door. There was an audible sigh of relief as it closed behind him. Vladimir Brusiloff proceeded to sum up. "No novelists any good except me. Sovietski yah! Nastikoff bah! I spit me of zem all. No novelists anywhere any good except me. P. G. Wodehouse and Tolstoi not bad. Not good, but not bad.
"Well, she died, rest her soul! and Parsloe too. But they had a daughter, and she survives them." "And resembles her mother, eh? No, Trednoke, the time for that sort of thing has gone by with me. Susan might have had me, five-and-forty years ago; but I can't undertake to revive my passion for the benefit of Mrs. Parsloe's daughter.
The keepers were a good bit fretted and on their mettle just then, because there was a lot of poaching afoot and pheasants going, and a dead bird or two picked up, as had escaped the malefactors, but died after and been found. So when Parsloe stopped Mr. Meadows and said as he'd got something to report, the old man hoped he might have a line to help against the enemy.
Nay, they even glanced at Don Miguel, as if to ask what was HIS business with the beautiful unconscious one! "This lady are my wife," he said, with dignity. "She not any more Miss Parsloe."
"And the Hound will be on the job till the end of the world afore he gets peace, no doubt, and them with ears to hear, may oft listen to a sound in the water like the rattling of a loom to this day; but 'tis no more than that poor devil-dog of a Knowles at his endless task." Millicent poured the old man another cup of tea and Parsloe went to work and Wade applauded the tale-teller.
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