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Updated: June 18, 2025
He had been finicking over his coloured shirts, handkerchiefs, and socks; a set of mauve, a set of blue, a set of grey; the brown set with the striped shirt; they were all awf'ly smart. Marie was so dainty, she liked a man to be smart, too. All he wanted was to please her. Rokeby came early, as quiet and lacklustre as ever.
Amongst other castles which arose during this late Norman and early English period of architecture we may mention Barnard Castle, a mighty stronghold, held by the royal house of Balliol, the Prince Bishops of Durham, the Earls of Warwick, the Nevilles, and other powerful families. Sir Walter Scott immortalized the Castle in Rokeby. Here is his description of the fortress:
So do come into town and dine with me." "I think I'd like to, thanks," said Julia; "I'm not quite sure." "Why aren't you quite sure?" "I might be bored with you. How do I know?" Rokeby looked at her with an astonished respect and a glim of his saving humour. "So you might; er I hadn't thought of it; but 'pon my word, I'll do my best. Won't you come if I guarantee that?"
In the very moment when he had bent toward her, there had drifted before her gaze the soft anxious eyes of Alice Rokeby, and the look in them as they followed John Benham that evening a week ago. "Oh, my dear," said Benham softly. Then his voice broke and he drew back hurriedly, for a figure had darkened the low window, and a minute afterward the door opened and Patty Vetch entered the room.
The knowledge of his vicious weaknesses or vices is only a subject of sorrow to the well-disposed, and of triumph to the profligate. May 30. We left Ferry Bridge at seven, and turning westwards, or rather northwestward, at Borough Bridge, we roach Rokeby at past three. A mile from the house we met Morritt looking for us.
When she sent him away, he felt on fire, from the last look of her, thus. When Marie had waved to her husband a stereotyped good-bye, and had kissed schoolboy George a warm one, on Monday morning, when leisurely quiet had come again to the flat, and as she still lingered over her newspaper, the door bell rang and Mrs. Desmond Rokeby was admitted.
The sale of his next poem, "Rokeby," showed that his popularity had declined, and when this was followed by the comparative failure of the "Lord of the Isles," he resolved to abandon the field of poetry, and seek for fame in another form of composition.
He sat down in the obvious lodging-house bedroom, lighted a cigarette and looked at Osborn without a smile. He prepared himself to be bored and amazed; weddings, tiresome as they were, always amazed him. And he was prepared, too, for a settled insanity in Osborn until "I wonder how long he'll be?" Rokeby thought.
He was trying to tell Rokeby something of the wonders and beauties of one woman's mind and heart; and he was telling him, too, of smaller things, of the comforts and attractions of home, of the little kingdom behind a shut front door, of the angel's food an angel cooked, and all her benevolences and graces and mercies.
The true succession, however, after this parenthesis, was taken up by Rokeby, which was dated on the very last day of 1812.
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