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Updated: May 23, 2025
Seeing a volume of his own Munden took it down and idly turned the pages; it surprised him to discover a great many marginal notes in pencil, and an examination of these showed him that Shergold must have gone carefully through the book with an eye to the correction of its style; adjectives were deleted and inserted, words of common usage removed for others which only a fine literary conscience could supply, and in places even the punctuation was minutely changed.
Shergold made a respectable introduction, and Lady Teasdale whispered it among matrons that he would inherit from the wealthy doctor, who had neither wife nor child. He might not be fair to look upon, but handsome is that handsome has. And now the doctor lay sick unto death.
Smoking a Cavour, Munden lay back in the shadow of the pergola, and seemed to disdain reply. 'Your advice? 'What's the good of advising a man born to be fooled? Why, let the do her worst! Shergold winced. 'We mustn't forget that it's all my fault. 'Yes, just as it's your own fault you didn't die on the day of your birth! 'I must raise the offer 'By all means; offer ten thousand.
A little after nine that evening, when only a grey reflex of daylight lingered upon a cloudy sky, Munden stood beneath the plane-trees by Guy's Hospital waiting. He had walked the length of Maze Pond and had ascertained that his friend's window as yet showed no light; Shergold was probably still from home.
Whilst he still pondered this singular manifestation of critical zeal, the door opened, and Shergold came in. A man of two-and-thirty, short, ungraceful, ill-dressed, with features as little commonplace as can be imagined. He had somewhat a stern look, and on his brow were furrows of care.
'Shall you want tea, Mr. Shergold? Munden turned sharply and looked at the girl. Shergold did not look at her, but he delayed for a moment and appeared to balance the question. Then, in a friendly voice, he said 'No, thank you. I may not be back till late in the evening. And he went on hurriedly. 'Cheeky little beggar that, Munden observed, with a glance at his friend.
A woman's figure appeared in the background. The girl turned and said sharply, 'All right, mother, it's only somebody for Mr. Shergold. 'I'll go upstairs and write a note, said Munden, in a rather peremptory voice. The other drew back and allowed him to pass, but with evident disinclination. As he entered the room, he saw that she had followed.
The law as it was did not distinguish between a case of the kind just related, of the starving, sorely tempted Shergold, and that of the systematic thief: sheep-stealing was a capital offence and the man must hang, unless recommended to mercy, and we know what was meant by "mercy" in those days.
During those hungry days even that poor comfort of sleeping or dozing away the time was denied him, for the danger of discovery was ever present to his mind, and Shergold was not one of the callous men who had become indifferent to their fate; it was his first crime, and he loved his own life and his wife and children, crying to him for food.
Shergold looked at him, with a painful embarrassment in his features; then suddenly he bent forward. 'Munden, it's I who have lied. I did ask that girl to marry me. 'When? 'Last night. 'Why? 'Because for a moment I was insane. They stared at each other. 'Has she any hold upon you? Munden asked slowly. 'None whatever, except this frantic offer of mine. 'Into which she inveigled you?
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