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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Oh, he must certainly take you in, my dear," said the Archdeacon. "And he seems a very clever, well-read man, I am sure you will find him easy to talk to." Poor Mrs. Selldon thought that she would rather have had some one who was neither clever nor well-read. But there was no help for her, and, whether she would or not, she had to go in to dinner with the literary lion. Mr.
Then, under the cover of the general roar of conversation, she said in a low voice: "You have guessed quite rightly. He is one of the Nihilists who were concerned in the assassination of the late Czar." "You don't say so!" exclaimed Mark Shrewsbury, much startled. "Is it possible?" "Indeed, it is only too true," said Mrs. Selldon. "I heard it only the other morning, and on the very best authority.
And that evening after my arrival chanced to be one of these occasions, for there was a dinner-party at the Archdeaconry, given in honour of a well-known author who was spending a few days in the neighbourhood. "I wish you could have Mr. Shrewsbury at your end of the table, Thomas," Mrs. Selldon had remarked to her husband with a sigh, as she was arranging the guests on paper that afternoon.
And then I came out again in full vigour nay, with vastly increased powers; for though Mark Shrewsbury did not add very much to me, or alter my appearance, yet his graphic words made me much more impressive than I had been under the management of Mrs. Selldon. "H'm! that's a queer story," said the limp-looking young man from Switzerland. "I say, have a game of billiards, will you?"
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