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Updated: June 23, 2025
Scrope found it difficult to guess at what was going on in the heads of his younger daughters. None displayed such sympathy as Eleanor had confessed. He had a feeling that his wife had schooled them to say nothing about the change in their fortunes to him. But they quarrelled a good deal, he could hear, about the use of the one bathroom there was never enough hot water after the second bath.
A wife is sauce to any story." He looked placidly round the company. He alone held the key to the puzzle, and since he was now become the centre of attraction he was inclined to play with his less acute brethren. With a wave of the hand he stilled the requests for an explanation, and turned to Scrope. "Will you answer me a question?" "I think it most unlikely."
Von Buch and Humboldt might have made Iztaccihuatl on the "upheaval theory," by a force pushing up from below, without breaking through the crust to form a crater; while Poulett Scrope was building Popocatepetl on the "accumulation theory," by throwing up lava and volcanic ashes out of an open vent, until he had formed a conical heap some five thousand feet high, with a great crater at the top.
One afternoon, however, as he sat close to thine window, while Grisell sang to him one of her sweet old ballads, a face, attracted by the English words and voice, was turned up to him. He exclaimed, "By St. Mary, Philip Scrope," and starting up, began to feel for the stick which he still needed.
Her other hand was held by her husband; and Lady Scrope was forgotten for the moment by all, as the three passed the familiar threshold amid a chorus of good wishes from friends and neighbours, to which Reuben responded by a variety of signs, Gertrude being too much moved to notice them.
"How can you expect me to help you to a drug so disastrous? even if I could tell you what it is." "But it was not disastrous to me," said Scrope. "Your extraordinary resignation your still more extraordinary way of proclaiming it!" "I don't think those were disasters." "But my dear Sir!" "You don't want to discuss theology with me, I know.
During these transactions, Lord Scrope and Sir Francis Knolles, who resided with Mary at Carlisle, had leisure to study her character, and to make report of it to Elizabeth.
"My DEAR BRUMMELL, All my money is locked up in the funds. This was just before Brummell's escape to the Continent. I have frequently asked Scrope Davis his private opinion of Lord Byron, and invariably received the same answer that he considered Lord Byron very agreeable and clever, but vain, overbearing, conceited, suspicious, and jealous.
Still weak with this wasting illness, but it is clearly going off. Time it should, quoth Sancho. I began my work again, which had slumbered betwixt pain and weakness. In fact I could not write or compose at all. December 28. Stuck to my work. Mr. Scrope came to dinner, and remained next day.
"I'm I'm grown up." "Even if it hurts?" "To live is to be hurt somehow," she said. "This This " She flashed her love. She intimated by a gesture that it is better to be stabbed with a clean knife than to be suffocated or poisoned or to decay.... Scrope turned his eyes to the young man again. He liked him. He liked the modelling of his mouth and chin and the line of his brows.
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