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Updated: June 2, 2025
You get me my divorce; let me marry Ma'amselle Pauline, live with her at the beeg house, and I'll promise parole d'honneur, m'sieu to see no more that man." "The Manor House! It will be a long time before any one can live there, I should think!" said Ringfield impatiently, concealing the spasm of tortured pride that passed over him as he heard Poussette's tactics defined.
"I cannot think," went on Ringfield, striving to shut this vision out, "how women, any woman, plain or fair, sane or mad, could bring herself to care for you, and not because, hear me, Crabbe, you are beyond caring about. God forbid! but because your form of vice must ever be so distasteful to a woman. And then you are all wrong about your surroundings.
A groan escaped him; he threw a pained and bitter glance at Crabbe and again studied the ground. "I find it hard to believe you. Hard, hard. The people at Hawthorne all say it was it was her's. Enderby told me." "God help you for a silly lunatic if you listen to the tales of country people, Ringfield!
Pauline would have answered hotly, her rudimentary fear of the curé disappearing before the mention of Ringfield, when her eyes fell upon a book that lay at the foot of the ladder, a small green book that she knew well by sight, having read in it with Edmund Crabbe years before, when he was known as "Mr. Hawtree" and had been her lover.
"Well, I may say that I agree with you, sir. The rector and his wife got a home for them in the village, and although we have learned something about them it is very little, and as the money for their support comes from here, I thought it time, sir, to look more thoroughly into the affair." "From here? You are sure?" Ringfield was ready to defend, even shield, Miss Clairville if necessary.
Well, now that I have come and thrown up my part and my place in the company in Montreal, he will not allow me to finish my journey and go on to Clairville!" "Certainly, you must not think of going!" cried Ringfield. "On no account must you do such a thing. Do you know what is the matter with him?" "Oh, the 'Pic' I suppose, but I'm not afraid of it." "Yet you have not been vaccinated, I fear!"
The mixture of the orthodox circuit style with an occasional direct and colloquial abruptness made this prayer worthy of record, and after silent meditation under the dark, swaying pine-trees, Ringfield, braced by temporary abandonment of self, returned to Poussette's. As he rose from his knees, however, something rolled down several ledges of rock and he promptly went after it and picked it up.
So the Pharisee and the publican might have stood. So in all ages often stand those extreme types, the moral man who has avoided or by circumstances been free of temptation, and the sinner who yet keeps a universal kindliness or other simple virtue in his heart. Anguish in one was met by cheerful contempt and growing pity in the other, and once more Crabbe essayed to reason with Ringfield.
Upon the little finger of the left hand sat a square seal ring of pale cornelian, and as Ringfield looked he clearly saw the capital letter "C" picked out in red upon the white.
He did not immediately think of Miss Clairville, for no horse nor conveyance were outside, but, had he listened more carefully, he would have recognized her educated accents; as it was, in a moment or two she herself came to the door, and upon seeing Ringfield started, but asked him to enter.
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