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Updated: May 26, 2025
It's been worth it." "But still I don't quite see " "I shouldn't wonder if they don't think our coming here was part of a deep-laid scheme to be near our ancestors. They'd understand that. And look how they've accepted us, all of them." "Are we so undesirable in ourselves?" George grunted. "Be just, me lord. That wretched Sangres man has twice our money.
"I didn't last time neither," Skim roared. After the loud laugh, old Whybarne of Gale Anstey piped feebly, "Well, dirt or no dirt, there's no denyin' Chapin knows a good job when he sees it. 'E don't build one day and dee-stroy the next, like that nigger Sangres."
"What's that?" said George. "Turn it all into a fine park like Violet Hill" he jerked a thumb to westward "that Mr. Sangres bought. It was four farms, and Mr. Sangres made a fine park of them, with a herd of faller deer." "Then it wouldn't be Friars Pardon," said Sophie. "Would it?" "I don't know as I've ever heard Pardons was ever anything but wheat an' wool.
Only some gentlemen say that parks are less trouble than tenants." He laughed nervously. "But the gentry, o' course, they keep on pretty much as they was used to." "I see," said Sophie. "How did Mr. Sangres make his money?" "I never rightly heard. It was pepper an' spices, or it may ha' been gloves. No. Gloves was Sir Reginald Liss at Marley End. Spices was Mr. Sangres.
After service its inhabitants moved forth without haste, but so as to block effectively a dusky person with a large family who champed in their rear. "Spices, I think," said Sophie, deeply delighted as the Sangres closed up after the Conants. "Let 'em get away, George." But when they came out many folk whose eyes were one still lingered by the lychgate.
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