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Updated: June 18, 2025
Only the little Priory of Rusper, a small Benedictine nunnery perhaps founded by one of the De Braose family before the end of the twelfth century, and the small Benedictine nunnery of Easebourne founded in the thirteenth century may be said to belong to the true Weald; of the others, such as the Abbey of Robertsbridge, the Priories of Michelham and Shulbred, the Abbeys of Otham, Bayham, and Dureford not one is really old or stands really within the true Weald.
Rusper speaking to her gently, firmly but exasperatingly as "My Good Woman" and telling her to "Answer the Question! Answer the Question!" "Seems a Pity," said the chairman, when binding them over to keep the peace, "you can't behave like Respectable Tradesmen. Seems a Great Pity. Bad Example to the Young and all that.
Bungs up the street with his pails. Look at them!" Rusper.... They were both tremendously earnest and reasonable in their manner. They wished everyone to regard them as responsible and intellectual men acting for the love of right and the enduring good of the world. They felt they must treat this business as a profound and publicly significant affair.
Then they were out in the road through the open gate and a long moan broke from her father. "Oh! God forgive me," he said, "have I failed?" It was a very strange evening that Mary and her father passed in the little upstairs room looking on to the street at Rusper. Sir James had hardly spoken, and after supper had sat near the window, with a curious alertness in his face.
He pencilled-marked the tract of Chiozza Money's that he was reading side by side with one by Mr. Holt Schooling, made a hasty note "Bal. of Trade say 12,000,000" and went to look out. Instantly he opened the window and ceased to believe the Fiscal Question the most urgent of human affairs. Rusper. For now the rapidly spreading blaze had forced the partition into Mr.
"As 'e been calling you names?" "Simply ran into his pails as anyone might," said Mr. Polly, "and out he comes and scrags me!" Rusper. "He assaulted me," said Mr. Polly. Rusper. "That assault? Or isn't it?" "You better drop it," said Mr. Hinks. "Great pity they can't be'ave better, both of 'em," said Mr. Chuffles, glad for once to find himself morally unassailable. "Anyone see it begin?" said Mr.
"It's cleared me out of a lot of old stock," said Mr. Wintershed; "that's one good thing." The remark was felt to be in rather questionable taste, and still more so was his next comment. "Rusper's a bit sick it didn't reach 'im." Everyone looked uncomfortable, and no one was willing to point the reason why Rusper should be a bit sick. "Rusper's been playing a game of his own," said Hinks.
She had been sent to Rusper for her education, and he never saw her except now and then when they chanced to be at home together for a few days. She used to look at him, he remembered, with awe-stricken eyes and parted lips, hardly daring to speak when he was in the room, continually to be met with going from or to the tall quiet chapel.
Polly's might be an insult meriting his resentment, meriting it none the less because it was masked and cloaked. Soon Mr. Polly's calls upon Mr. Rusper ceased also, and then Mr. Rusper, pursuing incomprehensible lines of thought, became afflicted with a specialised shortsightedness that applied only to Mr. Polly. He would look in other directions when Mr.
Rusper, entwined a leg about him and after terrific moments of swaying instability, fell headlong beneath him amidst the bicycles and pails.
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