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Updated: May 5, 2025
Stafford at length, controlling himself by an effort. "For the present, I agree with Lord Pilgrimstone, that it alters the position and perhaps finally." "Lord Pilgrimstone will be damaged in the eyes of a large section of his supporters seriously damaged," said Mr. Scratchley, shaking his head, and frowning. "Possibly. From every point of view the thing is to be deplored.
And then the pitiful degrading confession he had had to make for Lord Pilgrimstone! That had put the coping-stone to his dissatisfaction. "Oh!" sighed Mr. Scratchley, as he stepped into his cab. "Oh, that men so great should stoop to things so little!" It did not occur to him that there is a condition of things even more sad: when little men meddle with great things. Meanwhile Mr.
Scratchley, Lord Pilgrim-stone's secretary, entered in through another. By that time he had regained his composure, and looked much as usual. Still, when he held up the crumpled note, there was a brusqueness in the gesture which would have surprised his ordinary acquaintances, and did remind Mr. Scratchley of certain "warm nights" in the House. "You know the contents of this, Mr.
Stafford, still more harshly, "that Lord Pilgrimstone gives yesterday's agreement to the winds?" "I have never seen his lordship so deeply moved," replied the discreet one. "He says: 'Our former negotiation was ruined by premature talk, but this last disclosure can only be referred to treachery or gross carelessness. What does this mean? I know of no disclosure, Mr. Scratchley.
Scratchley?" he said without prelude, and in a tone which matched his gesture. The visitor bowed. He was a grave middle-aged man, who seemed oppressed and burdened by the load of cares and responsibilities which his smiling chief carried so jauntily. People said that he was the proper complement of Lord Pilgrimstone, as the more volatile Atley was of his leader. "And you are aware," continued Mr.
When catechized about her, he had been known to answer: "She ain't a widder, not to my thinking, but her husband he's as dead as a door-nail. Name of Scratchley; or Simmons some such a name!" As for the designation of "Mrs. Wardle" used as a ceremonial title, it was probably a vague attempt to bring the household into tone.
Scratchley assented to that, and bowed himself out, after another word or two, looking more gloomy and careworn than usual. The interview had not been altogether to his mind. He wished now that he had spoken more roundly to Mr. Stafford; perhaps even asked for a categorical denial of the charge. But the Minister's manner had overawed him. He had found it impossible to put the question.
"Who brought it?" he repeated, before the servant could explain. The man had never seen him so moved. "Mr. Scratchley, sir," he answered. "Ha! Then, show him into the library," was the quick reply. And while the servant went to do his bidding, the Minister hastily changed his dressing-gown for a coat, and ran down a private staircase, reaching the room he had mentioned by one door as Mr.
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