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Updated: May 7, 2025
And this time, instead of putting her down instantly, he lifted her up in his arms and held her tight and kissed her. Her heart thumped violently and she had a sudden happy feeling. Neither spoke. Humphrey Propart had kissed her once for a forfeit. And she had boxed his ears. Mr. Ponsonby's was a different sort of kiss.
In the evening they were gone. Mr. Propart must have borrowed them.
Mary's Chapel no longer burned? Supposing Barkingside church and Aldborough Hatch church fell to bits and there were no more clergymen? And you only read in history books about people like Mr. Batty and Mr. Propart and their surplices and the things they wore round their necks? Supposing the Christian religion passed away? It excited you to think these things.
There was Spinoza; but Spinoza had been dead for ages. Now she came to think of it she had never heard anybody, not even Mr. Propart, speak of Spinoza. It would be worse for her than it had ever been for Aunt Lavvy who had actually known Dr. Martineau. Dr. Martineau was not dead; and if he had been there were still lots of Unitarian ministers alive all over England.
Sometimes it would be the Proparts; or Mr. Batty would come in alone. And sometimes they would all come together with the aunts and uncles, and there would be a party. Mary always hoped that Uncle Victor would notice her and say, "Mary is reading Locke On the Human Understanding," or that Mr. Propart would come and turn over the books and make some interesting remark. But they never did.
"The less you find out about it the better." "Aunt Lavvy, you're talking like Mr. Propart. Supposing I honestly think Pantheism's true?" "You've no right to think anything about it," Aunt Lavvy said. "Now you're talking like Papa. And I did so hope you wouldn't." "I only meant that it takes more time than you've lived to find out what honest thinking is.
Batty, the Vicar of Barkingside, who called his daughter Isabel his "pretty one"; Mr. Farmer, the curate of St. Mary's Chapel, who walked up and down the room all night with the baby; and Mr. Propart, who went about the public roads with Humphrey and Arthur positively hanging on him. Dan said Humphrey and Arthur were tame and domestic because they were always going about with Mr.
and the bits about Satan in Paradise Lost. The sound of the lines gave her the same nice feeling that she had when Mrs. Propart played the March in Scipio after Evening Service. She tried to make lines of her own that went the same way as the lines in Milton and Shakespeare and Pope's Iliad. She found out that there was nothing she liked so much as making these lines.
Propart and talking to him as if they liked it. Mark had once seen Mr. Propart trying to jump a ditch on the Aldborough Road. It was ridiculous. Humphrey and Arthur had to grab him by the arms and pull him over. Mary was sorry for the Propart boys because they hadn't got a mother who was sweet and pretty like Mamma and a father called Emilius Olivier.
"Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity" Colours were more beautiful than white radiance. But that was because of the light. The more light there was in them the more beautiful they were; it was their real life. One afternoon Mr. Propart called. He came into the library to borrow a book. "And what are you so deep in?" he said. "Shelley." "Shelley? Shelley?"
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