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Updated: July 27, 2025
Peacocke. Were he to do so, he would be neglecting a duty much more sacred than any he could owe to Mr. Peacocke. It was thus that, during these three days, he conversed with himself on the subject, although he was able to maintain outwardly the same manner and the same countenance as though all things were going well between them.
Peacocke, which, if generally known, would be held to be deleterious to their character. So much he could not help deducing from what the man had already told him.
I have written to your father by this post, because it is right that he should be told at once. I have been obliged to say that it is impossible." "I am so sorry! I should so much have liked it. My father would have done everything to make you comfortable, and so would mamma." In answer to all this Mr. Peacocke could only say that it was impossible.
After that he rebelled, having become tired of his bed. But by that time his mother had been most unnecessarily summoned. Unless she was wanted to examine the forlorn condition of his clothes, there was nothing that she could do. But she came, and, of course, showered blessings on Mr. Peacocke's head, while Mrs. Wortle went through to the school and showered blessings on Mrs. Peacocke.
When I wrote to you in my letter, which I certainly did not intend as an admonition, about the metropolitan press, I only meant to tell you, for your own information, that the newspapers were making reference to your affair with Mr. Peacocke.
Momson, though in his heart he despised Mr. Momson thoroughly. In this letter he declared the great respect which he had entertained, since he had first known them, both for Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke, and the distress which he had felt when Mr. Peacocke had found himself obliged to explain to him the facts, the facts which need not be repeated, because the reader is so well acquainted with them. "Mr.
As he rode home he tried to persuade himself that he might yet use them. He could not quite admit his friend's point. Mr. Peacocke, no doubt, had known his own condition, and him a strict moralist might condemn. But he, he, Dr. Wortle, had known nothing. All that he had done was not to condemn the other man when he did know!
He had not even hinted it to his wife, from whom it might probably make its way to Mrs. Peacocke. He had suggested it to Mr. Puddicombe, asking whether there might not be a way out of all their difficulties. Mr. Puddicombe had declared that there could be no such way as far as the school was concerned.
Much as he had hated and dreaded the man; much as he had suffered from his companionship, good reason as he had to dislike the whole family, he felt himself bound by their late companionship not to betray him. The man had assisted Mr. Peacocke simply for money; but still he had assisted him. Mr. Peacocke therefore held his peace and said nothing.
His lordship was a gossip, as bad as an old woman, as bad as Mrs. Stantiloup, and wanted to know things in which a man should feel no interest. So said the Doctor to himself. What was it to him, the Bishop, or to him, the Doctor, what Mr. Peacocke had been doing in America?
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