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Updated: June 29, 2025
Westray spoke earnestly, and was gratified to see the effect which his eloquence produced on Mr Sharnall. It is so rarely that argument prevails to change opinion that the young man was flattered to see that the considerations which he was able to marshal were strong enough, at any rate, to influence Mr Sharnall's determination. Well, perhaps there was something in what Mr Westray said.
He stood leaning over the iron railing, and looked at the soiled river, just as Mr Sharnall had looked.
It is years since he has been out so late in the evening." "I haven't the least idea where he is," Westray said rather testily, for he was tired with a long day's work. "I suppose he has gone out somewhere to supper." "No one ever asks Mr Sharnall out. I do not think he can be gone out to supper."
Mr Sharnall had become aware that he was tired, and he stood and leant over the iron paling that divides the roadway from the stream. He did not know how tired he was till he stopped walking, nor how the rain had wetted him till he bent his head a little forward, and a cascade of water fell from the brim of his worn-out hat. It was a forlorn and dismal stream at which he looked.
"He's young, maybe, compared to his grandfather, who died at eighty-five; but he must be forty, if he's a day." "Oh, impossible; and yet I don't know. It was in my first year at Cullerne that his father and mother were drowned. You remember that, Mr Sharnall when the Corisande upset in Pallion Bay?"
To lose him would be a very serious matter to Miss Joliffe from the material point of view; he was her sheet-anchor, the last anchor that kept Bellevue Lodge from drifting into bankruptcy. Mr Sharnall was dead, and with him had died the tiny pittance which he contributed to the upkeep of the place, and lodgers were few and far between in Cullerne.
What a strange accident it was, what a strange thing that Sharnall should have been haunted by that wandering fancy of a man following him with a hammer, and then have been found in this very loft, with the desperate wound on him that the pedal-note had dealt! How much had happened his own proposal to Anastasia, his refusal, and now that event for which the bells were ringing!
The question was full of indifference, and there was a little smile of pity on his face; but the clerk remembered how Mr Sharnall had said something about a strutting peacock, and that there were no real Blandamers left, and was particularly ill at ease.
"I can't help being `beholden to him, as you genteelly put it," Mr Sharnall said one evening, when Lord Blandamer had gone. "I can't stop his giving new bellows or a new pedal-board. And we do want the new board and the additional pipes. As it is, I can't play German music, can't touch a good deal of Bach's organ work. Who is to say this man nay, if he chooses to alter the organ?
Lord Blandamer took out a cigar instinctively, and then, remembering that there was a lady present, put it back into his case and went on: "Oh, he lived in the same house with Mr Sharnall, did he? I should like to hear more of this story; it naturally interests me. What was his name?"
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