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Updated: June 2, 2025
Morton of buying Chowton Farm, and was very anxious that he should not be forgotten at the Foreign Office. Lady Ushant had herself driven to Hoppet Hall, and there took up her residence with her nephew. Every other day Mr. Runciman's fly came for her and carried her backwards and forwards to Bragton.
Masters went back to Dillsborough in Runciman's fly, and it need hardly be said that the attorney said nothing of the business which had taken him to Bragton. This happened on a Wednesday, Wednesday the 3rd of March. On Friday morning, at 4 o'clock, during the darkness of the night, John Morton was lying dead on his bed, and the old woman was at his bedside.
He was a little man, very neat in his attire, who liked to be above his company, and fancied that he was so in Mr. Runciman's parlour. Between him and the attorney's chair was Harry Stubbings, from Stanton Corner, the man who let out hunters, and whom Twentyman had threatened to thrash.
He never knew how near he had been to meeting the direst inhospitality at Mr. Runciman's house. That worthy innkeeper, knowing well the Senator's sympathy with Goarly, Scrobby and Bearside, and being heart and soul devoted to the Rufford interest, had almost refused the Senator the accommodation he wanted. It was only when Mrs.
It is not surprising that, under this strain and stress, even that magnificent physique showed signs of breaking down, like every other writer's. A long holiday on the Mediterranean, and another at Torquay, restored him happily to his wonted health; but he saw he must now choose between schoolmastering and journalism. To run the two abreast was too much, even for James Runciman's gigantic powers.
She had very little to say about it when Mary packed her boxes and was taken in Mr. Runciman's fly to Bragton. Since the old days, the old days of all, since the days to which Reginald had referred when he asked her to pass over the bridge with him, she had never yet walked about the Bragton grounds.
She could understand him always. There was always nature on his canvas, and meaning and common sense there was always a story plainly, forcibly told. But Mr. Runciman's meanings were not so clear. What was all the smoke about, and the waving arms, and the distorted features, and the Bedlamite faces, and, oh! the long legs and the flying draperies?
Runciman's real goodness of heart that was justified in due course by the arrival of a cablegram authorizing her to draw fifty pounds from the Hammerville bank as she needed it. But she had to start off in the grey dawn of the next morning, in company with the usurping Dr. Plumstead as Sylvia would persist in calling him without knowing that her need was to be met in this generous manner.
As soon as she was gone the attorney went over to the Bush with the purpose of borrowing Runciman's pony, so that he might ride over to Chowton Farm and at once execute his daughter's last request. In the yard of the inn he saw Runciman himself, and was quite unable to keep his good news to himself. "My girl has just been with me," he said, "and what do you think she tells me?"
Runciman's vices in the eyes of the seven that he would always give them the full benefit of their baptismal names, although he knew, because they had told him so, that they simply hated the formal mode of address, which no one used except himself.
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