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Updated: June 12, 2025
Spatt wrote to his favourite evening paper to point out the despicable ingratitude of a country which would have imprisoned a daughter of the celebrated B , and announced that henceforward he would be an active supporter of suffragism, which hitherto had interested him only academically.
At the chief garden gate of the Spatt residence they came upon Miss Nickall, trying to open it. The sling round her arm made her unmistakable. And Miss Nickall having allowed them to recover from a pardonable astonishment at the sight of her who was supposed to be exhausted and in bed, said cheerfully: "I've found him, and I've put him up at the Excelsior Hotel." Mrs.
Life seemed to be disappointing her, and assuredly money was not the thing that she had imagined it to be. She thought: "If this walking lamp-post does not say something soon I shall scream." Mr. Spatt said: "It seems to be blowing up for rain." She screamed in the silent solitude of Frinton. "I'm so sorry," she apologised quickly. "I thought I saw something move." "One does," faltered Mr. Spatt.
It could not conceivably have been the laugh of any girl who went into the shopping street to buy bridge-markers, chocolate, bathing costumes or tennis balls. But it might have been it not improbably was the laugh of some girl whose mission was to sell such things. The trio meandered past, heedless. Mr. Spatt said no word, but he appreciably winced.
But as regards friends and acquaintances, we prefer to import them from London. As for the holiday-makers, one sees them, naturally. They appear to lead an exclusively physical existence." "My dear," put in Mr. Spatt stiffly. "The residents are no better. The women play golf all day on that appalling golf course, and then after tea they go into the town to change their library books.
The bare room was filled with the sound of Musa's fiddle and with the high musical culture of Mr. and Mrs. Spatt. When the piece was over they clapped discreetly, and looked with soft intensity at Audrey, as if murmuring: "You, too, are a cultured cosmopolitan. You share our emotion." And across the face of Mrs.
"And I have got a surprise for you! I have just! You may say it's some surprise." She turned towards the cab. "Musa, now do come out of that wagon." And from the blackness of the cab's interior gingerly stepped Musa, holding a violin case in his hand. "Mrs. Spatt," said Nick. "Let me introduce Mr. Musa. Mr. Musa is perhaps the greatest violinist in Paris or in Europe. Very old friend of ours.
Mr. Hurley had been to Frinton and ascertained that the Spatt story as to the tank-room was an invention, and had returned with a search warrant and some tools. But in another ten seconds she was equally sure that nothing of the sort could have happened, for it was an axiom with her that Aguilar's masterly lying, based on masterly listening at an attic door, had convinced Mr.
They were now in the shopping street, where in the mornings the elect encounter each other on expeditions to purchase bridge-markers, chocolate, bathing costumes and tennis balls. It was a black and empty canyon through which the wind raced. "He may be down down on the shore," Mr. Spatt timidly suggested. He seemed to be suggesting suicide.
He was a cousin of German residents in First Avenue and, visiting them often, had been discovered by Mr. Spatt in the afternoon-tea train. And just as the ices came to compete with the night wind, the postman arrived like a deliverer.
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