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Updated: June 21, 2025
"You would, you know," said Chevenix, his tones rich in sympathy. "All women do. You couldn't help it. You've got such a kind heart. All women have. Now, I've known Senhouse himself five or six years, but I've known about him for at least eight. I used to hear about him from morn to dewy eve, once upon a time, from one of the loveliest and most charming girls you ever met in your life.
"In girum imus noctu, non ut consumimur igni. They used to say that of the devils once upon a time. Devilish bad Latin; but it reads backwards as well as forwards, like the devil himself." "My devil rides on my back," said the stranger, "and carries with him the fire that roasts me." He was at once bitter and sententious. Senhouse put down his hurts to bruises of the self-esteem.
Did you know her? A Miss Percival Sanchia Percival. We used to call her Sancie. Thought you might have met her, perhaps. No? Well, this chap Senhouse would have gone through the fire for her. He would have said his prayers to her. Did you ever see his poems about her? My word! He published 'em after the row, you know. He as good as identified her with well, we won't mention names, Mrs.
She bared herself to the thighs. She went into the pool thigh-deep. Whiter than the lilies which she went to save, she raked the weed from them you helping her." "She did," said Senhouse, his eyes searching the fire. "And when, afterwards, she did what her heart bade her, she never faltered either, though she steeped her pure soul in foulness compared to which the black water was sweet.
"A young woman with shining eyes, blown-back hair and face on fire, holding out her heart from the threshold, stretching it out at arms' length, crying, 'Who will take this? To whom may I give it? A vision here of Heaven's core of light. I have seen it. I, Senhouse, have seen the Holy Grail. "She stood with me upon the threshold of the world, just so, with blown- back hair and shining eyes.
He lost his nerve because " "Because it was you, my dear," said Chevenix briskly. She owned soberly to that. "I shall see your people when I get to town," he told her. "I shall make a point of seeing Vicky and your governor. And if I could drop in upon Senhouse, by George, I'd risk it. You don't know where he is just now, I suppose?"
It had been Senhouse who had called up the spirit that was in her that extraordinary candour of vision which shrank from the judgment of nothing in heaven or earth "upon the merits." He had himself been at first amazed by her quality; but before he had discovered it he had adored her; so it had seemed all of a piece with her exquisite perfection.
That reticence of hers which repelled her own sex was precisely that in her which attracted, by provoking, the other. After her dumb childhood, to which she never looked back, came her opening girlhood, and on the threshold of that stood Jack Senhouse, the loyal servitor, the one man who had loved her without an ounce of self-seeking.
Nothing escaped Senhouse. "How d'ye do, how d'ye do?" He held out his hand. Senhouse rose and grasped it. The Italian took off his hat, and strolled away. "I'm very well, thanks," he said. "Have you noticed those shores beyond the canal? Samphire there just as we have it at home. Leagues of samphire." The younger man looked in the direction indicated cheerfully and blankly.
She discovered a tenderness, a yearning; she lay awake dreaming of her childhood, of her girlhood, of Vicky, of her father's knee, of Senhouse, her dear, preposterous friend, whose grey eyes quizzed while they loved her. Golden days with him golden nights when she dreamed over his eager, profuse, interminable letters! All these sweet, seemly things were dead! Ah, no, not that, else must she die.
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