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Updated: June 21, 2025
She was inordinately thankful to him, and by a queer freak of the mind, poured all her gratitude into Senhouse. She told herself that but for him she would never have brought herself to her duty; but for him, therefore, would never have discovered how little she had to fear.
"She is rather young," pursued Mr. Birket, "but George Senhouse is a steady fellow as well as a successful one. It is George Senhouse she is going to marry you have heard of him?" "Any relation, if I may ask, to Sir George Senhouse of whom we read in the House of Parliament?" asked Aunt Ellen. "Yes George Senhouse that's the man.
What is the reason that Senhouse appeals so strongly to the imagination? Simply because he loved Nature. And in this matter-of-fact period when poetry is dead and even a by-word, the man who loves Nature, if not a poet, at least has poetry in his soul.
I felt rather miserable this morning; I've been worried rather. I thought I would just see what they would do for me. They made me feel ashamed of myself. Their strength, their contentedness just to grow, and be strong and well! Nothing more. What else ought we to want? Food the sun strength to grow! Isn't that enough?" She was echoing Senhouse here, and felt an added glow to remember it.
Chevenix. "Well, I say to you, my boy, Go and see her. She's so far human that she's got a tongue, and likes to wag it, I suppose. I don't say that there's trouble, and I don't say there's not. But there are the makings of it. She's alone, and may be moped. I don't know. You'd better judge for yourself." Senhouse, trembling from his recent fire, turned away his face. "I don't know that I dare.
Now that escapade in the pond, you know. That was all right with only old Senhouse in the way. You must admit that you were rather decolletee, to say the least of it. Now, would you say that you can do those sort of things go as you please, you know, anywhere?" "Why not?" Her eyes were straightly at him. "What! Whether you're seen or not?" She frowned.
You shall have some." Sanchia saw them. The sun gleamed upon fawn and white, and made black shine like jet. Deep in the thickets they heard the bell of one, cropping musically. Senhouse led them to his verandah, which was shadowed from the heat, made them sit on mats, and served them with milk and bread in wooden bowls and trenchers.
If you fly against Nature, you must get the worst of it." He waited, then asked, "It's against your principles to marry a woman, no doubt." "Quite," Senhouse said. "It seems to me an insult to propose it to her." "Your Mary didn't think so." "She did at first; but she couldn't get used to it." "She felt naked without the ring? And ashamed?" "God help me," said Senhouse, "that's true.
He was barefooted, which Sanchia, must by all means be for the day: divining her, as he only could, he knelt without invitation and untied her shoes. "Stockings too, I'll bet you!" was what Chevenix thought; but he was wrong. Senhouse went into his cabin, and returned with sandals. Sanchia had taken off her own stockings. They were sandals to fit her.
Much care I." He ended with a sob which was like the cough of a wolf at night, and then turned his face away. "Why should she care," asked Senhouse, "what becomes of you? By your act you dropped yourself out of her sphere. If she was to be degraded, as you call it, by whom was she degraded? But you talk there a language which I don't understand.
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