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Updated: June 5, 2025
No, certainly not she mustn't think of going back to St. Sidwell's for another three months. Three months! Impossible! It was a whole term. Dr. Cautley scowled horribly and said that if she was ever to be fit for cube-root and decimals again, she positively and absolutely must. Whereupon Miss Quincey gave way to emotion. To leave St.
Then something very much worse than that happened; Miss Quincey gave him a copy of the "Address to the Students and Teachers of St. Sidwell's," and it made him laugh. She pointed out the bit about the healers and regenerators, and refreshing yourself at the wells of literature. "That is a beautiful passage," said Miss Quincey. He laughed more than ever. "Oh yes, beautiful, beautiful.
It was brain exhaustion; altogether a noble and transcendental affair; Miss Quincey was a victim of the intellectual life. In all the five-and-twenty years she had worked there St. Sidwell's had never heard so much about Miss Quincey's brain. And on her part Miss Quincey was surprised to find that she had so many friends.
He seized his hat, then suddenly remembered, paused to glance and that instant was his undoing, and another man's Clarence Sidwell's salvation. And Florence Baker, at whom he had glanced? She was not tearful or hysterical now. Instead, she was looking at him out of wide-open eyes. Well she knew this man, and knew the volcano she had aroused. "You won't hurt him, Ben!" she said.
Sidwell's was one of the nineteen old city parishes although without the walls. The site of St. Sidwell's Church is said to be on the spot where a saint of this name suffered martyrdom. She is one of those half-mythical British saints, said by tradition to have been beheaded by a scythe whilst praying beside a well. A church is said to have been built in her honour so early as 749.
Sidwell's, not because she was brilliant or efficient, but because her younger sister Louisa already held an important post there. Louisa was brilliant and efficient enough for anybody, so brilliant and so efficient that the glory of it rested on her family.
It was robbing him of Rhoda, and Rhoda of her youth. Meanwhile Rhoda was superbly happy at St. Sidwell's, playing at being Pallas Athene; as for checking her midway in her brilliant career, that was not to be thought of for an instant. The flower of womanhood it was the flower of life. He had never seen a woman so invincibly and superlatively alive.
About a month ago the Warricombes had been on a visit at Budleigh Salterton, and something might then have happened. Pangs of jealousy smote him, nor could he assuage them by reminding himself that he had no concern whatever in Sidwell's future. 'Will Mr. Warricombe be long away? he asked, coldly. 'A day or two. I hope you didn't wish particularly to see him to-day? 'Oh, no. 'Do you know, Mr.
There Miss Cursiter's address failed her and her voice faltered. She had extracted the thorn; but it had worked its way deeper than she knew, and the operation was a painful one. A few compliments on the part of the Head, and the hope that St. Sidwell's would not lose sight of Miss Quincey altogether, and the interview was closed.
He waited anxiously for what she would say. A necessity for speaking out his inmost thoughts had arisen with the emotion, scarcely to be called hope, excited by Sidwell's magnanimity. Now, or never, he must stand before this woman as his very self, and be convinced that she loved him for his own sake. 'No, I don't mean intellect, she replied, with hesitation. 'What then?
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