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Updated: June 23, 2025
And I'd like to fetch Gilling in here, and I'd like him to know all that Mr. Dennie's told us. Because, don't you see, Sir Cresswell and Petherton ought to know all that, immediately, and Gilling's their man."
He had a vague expectation of seeing a bluff, stalwart, sea-dog type of man; instead, he presently found himself shaking hands with a very quiet-looking, elderly gentleman, who might have been a barrister or a doctor, of pleasant and kindly manners. With him was another gentleman of a similar type, and of about the same age, whom he introduced as the family solicitor, Mr. Petherton.
But Greyle's own solicitor was on his legs, insisting on his right to put a first question. In spite of Petherton, he put it. "You heard the evidence of the last witness? Spurge. Is there a word of truth in it?" Marston Greyle who certainly looked very unwell moistened his lips. "Not one word!" he answered. "It's a lie!"
She sent them off together, but had a grave protest as her friend put out his hand for the volume. "No, Petherton not for books; for her reading I can't say I do trust you. But for everything else quite!" she declared to Mr. Longdon with a look of conscientious courage as their companion withdrew. "I do believe," she pursued in the same spirit, "in a certain amount of intelligent confidence.
His mother meanwhile, recovering herself, had begun to ejaculate on the prints in Aggie's arms, and he was then diverted from the sense of what he "personally," as he would have said, couldn't have stood, by a glance at Lord Petherton's trophy, for which he made a prompt grab. "The bone of contention?" Lord Petherton had let it go and Harold remained arrested by the cover.
The Duchess appropriated a nice little round one and her hostess presently went on: "There's one thing I mustn't forget don't let us eat them ALL. I believe they're what Lord Petherton really comes for." The Duchess finished her mouthful imperturbably before she took this up. "Does he come so often?" Mrs. Brookenham might have been, for judicious candour, the Muse of History.
While that was building, Ina dwelt in the house of some great British lord at the place we call South Petherton, not far off from the fortress. As the place pleased him, presently he had a palace built there for himself, which, as it turned out, Ethelburga the queen never liked at all. However, that came about in after years.
The inscription on one at South Petherton reads: Snuff Boxes and Rasps. Snuff-taking has been a habit associated with smoking tobacco from quite early days. The preparation of snuff was formerly achieved at home, and consequently there sprang up the need of rasps, which were frequently carried about in the pocket, many of the cases being very ornamental.
Brook now put to Tishy. Tishy, after a stare about, recovered the acuter consciousness to account for this guest. "Oh yes she's playing with him." "But with whom, dear?" "Why, with Petherton. I thought you knew." "Knew they're playing ?" Mrs. Brook was almost Socratic. "The Missus is regularly wound up," her husband meanwhile, without resonance, observed to Vanderbank. "Brilliant indeed!"
She checked a motion that he had apparently meant as a protest she went on with her muffled wisdom. "There isn't a man but YOU whom Petherton wouldn't have made vulgar. He isn't vulgar himself at least not exceptionally; but he's just one of those people, a class one knows well, who are so fearfully, in this country, the cause of it in others.
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