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Updated: June 23, 2025
He's so natural; he knows things that you know. He knows everything. Oh, Sancie, I can't talk about it, but you understand, don't you?" Poor Sancie nodded, not able to look up. Alas for her secrets, offered, taken, and forgotten! But Vicky's vivacious fingers groped in her empty cupboard. "And then, as well as that, you ought to love him. You see, you've promised; it's all been made so sacred.
I won't mention names, but I've explained your case, only lately, in a rocky quarter and I know I've made an impression. I'm not much good at talking, as a rule, but I do believe that I put the thing rather well. You make your own laws eh? Like Napoleon Buonaparte eh? And somehow the way you do it it's all right, eh, Sancie?" He got nothing from her.
"What a cold hand, my dear! Oh, Sancie, how I could have warmed you once! Is that never to be again? Don't tell me so, for God's sake." "Oh, how can I tell!" cried she. "Surely you can understand me better than that? Do you ask me to forget everything that has has happened in eight years?" "I asked you to forgive me, my dear." "And I have forgiven." "But do you store these things up against me?
She shook her head, struggling all the time to get her breath. "It's gone clean gone." "You want food, Sancie; that's what you want. Come. Don't let's have a commotion. You leave all this to me." She leaned against the wall, and brushed her hand across her face. Chevenix was in despair. Nevile, from below, called up, "What are you two conspiring about?" Sanchia shivered, and stood up.
Yet she knew exactly what she was about to do, and how she would do it, and did not falter at all. At a quarter past twelve her summons came a knock at the door, the turning of the handle, the push to open, and Ingram's voice. "Come along, Sancie," he said, and went away without any more ceremony.
Percival, in the simplicity of his heart, overflowed with the joy of it. "Sancie in Berkeley Square where Lord Rosebery lives: think of that, my dear!" And Mrs. Percival, who knew where Lord Rosebery lived as well as anybody, would reply, "These things will be balanced hereafter. Neither you nor I, Welbore, are assessing angels, I believe.
But you were always the pet, my love; you know you were until, until ah, Sancie! And one of yours! Aren't you going to indulge your old father? He's only got a few years left, mind you. Don't want any more. To see his darling happy, smiling down on her baby bless me, I'm getting foolish." He blinked his bravest, but had to wipe his glasses.
Did you know her? A Miss Percival Sanchia Percival. We used to call her Sancie. Thought you might have met her, perhaps. No? Well, this chap Senhouse would have gone through the fire for her. He would have said his prayers to her. Did you ever see his poems about her? My word! He published 'em after the row, you know. He as good as identified her with well, we won't mention names, Mrs.
Sancie answered him by jumping into his arms, and upset him altogether. "Oh, my girl, my girl my little Sancie " and then the pair of them mingled tears, while Mrs. Percival, who thought this exhibition out of place "under the circumstances," and not in the best possible taste, tapped her foot on the carpet, and wished that Philippa had been here.
I was fairly deep in the thing you know that I felt pretty badly, because it was my fault that you ever knew Nevile at all. Don't you suppose I've ever forgiven myself that, Sancie; never you suppose it. No, no." He was much moved. She, by a sudden impulse, put out her hand to him. He wrung it, and said, "Thanks, Sancie; thanks, my dear."
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