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Updated: June 15, 2025
She turned and found herself close to the Dean and Canon Ronder. The Dean came forward, nervously rubbing his hands together as was his custom. "Well, children," he said, blinking at them. Ronder stood, smiling, in the doorway. At the sight of him Joan was filled with hatred vehement, indignant hatred; she had never hated any one before, unless possibly it was Miss St. Clair, the French mistress.
"Except for the Cathedral, of course. I always envy Lady St. Leath her elevation." "A fine site, the Castle," said Ronder. "They must get a continual breeze up there." "They do," said Brandon. "Whenever I'm up there there's a wind." This most edifying conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Reverend Charles Ponting. Mr.
Joan felt more her own response to the town than the town's reassurance to her, but she was a little comforted and she felt a little safer. She argued as she walked home through the Market Place and up the High Street and under the Arden Gate into the quiet sheltered Precincts, why should she think that Ronder mattered? After all might not he be the good fat clergyman that he appeared?
Ronder, as he stood in the spring sunlight, glancing up and down the High Street, so full of colour and movement, had an impulse as though it were almost a duty to go and warn the Archdeacon. "Look out! Look out! There's a storm coming!" Warn the Archdeacon! He smiled. He could imagine to himself the scene and the reception his advice would have.
Ronder climbed up the dirty dark staircase and knocked on the old oak door that had upon it a dirty visiting card with Foster's name. When he ceased his climb and the noise of his footsteps fell away there was a great silence. Not a sound could be heard. Crumpleton to be heard, shrill and defiant, as was too often the case.
"Course these are medical secrets in a way. Know it won't go any farther. But it's curious, isn't it? Appearances are deceptive damned deceptive. That's what they are. Brandon's brain's never been his strong point. Might go any moment." "Dear me, dear me," said Ronder. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Here again Miss Milton's passions seemed to threaten to overwhelm her. She gathered herself together with a great effort. "I know my enemy, Canon Ronder. Make no mistake about that. I know my enemy. Although, what I have ever done to him I cannot imagine. A more inoffensive person " "Yes. But," said Canon Ronder gently, "tell me, if you can, exactly with what they charge you.
"Were you, when he talked to you, quite unconscious that he was my son, and that any action that he took would at once affect my life, my happiness?" "Of course I was aware that he was your son. But " "There is another question that I wish to ask you, Canon Ronder. Did some one come to you not long ago with a letter that purported to be written by my wife?" Again Ronder hesitated. "Yes," he said.
"Archdeacon Brandon's, sir." "Oh!..." Ronder mounted the steps. "Good night," he said to Fawcett. "Mrs. Clay, pay the cabman, please." The Ronders had taken this house a month ago; for two months before that it had stood desolate, wisps of paper and straw blowing about it, its "To let" notice creaking and screaming in every wind. The Hon. Mrs.
"It was arrogant and conceited. Perhaps you cannot avoid intrigue and party feeling among the community of any Cathedral body. That is why I want you to understand, Canon Ronder, the kind of man I am, before you propose me for this post. I am afraid that you may afterwards regret your advocacy.
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