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Updated: May 18, 2025
Wherefore, willing to make sure of that, I gathered up a good armful of the rushes wherewith the floor was covered, and spreading them under the table, crept in upon them in my clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head upon one end of the table's frame, instead of a bolster.
He began to add them up afresh, tapping the table with the fingers of his left hand, as his custom was when counting. Dorothea waited. The addition made, he entered it, resting three shapely finger-tips on the table's edge for the number to be carried over. "I wish to speak with you particularly." He laid down his pen resignedly.
Her footsteps died away in the passage, but Swithin sat gazing intently at a single bright drop of spilt wine quivering on the table's edge. In that moment she, in her helplessness and emotion, was all in all to him his life nothing; all the real things his conventions, convictions, training, and himself all seemed remote, behind a mist of passion and strange chivalry.
"I'm in a hurry," said Denry, importantly, as if he was going forth to sign a treaty involving the welfare of the nations. "Well," said she, "happen ye are, Denry. But th' kitchen table's no place for boot-brushes." He had one piece of luck. It froze. Therefore no anxiety about the condition of boots. The Countess was late; some trouble with a horse.
He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke. "You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly. Then he swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock. "Eleven," he said with regret.
The next moment he traversed the carpeted interval between them and halted at the table's damask edge, gazing intently across at the solitary diner, who sat leaning back in an arm-chair, heavy right hand still resting on the stem of a claret glass, a cigar suspended between the fingers of his left hand. "Are you Colonel Arran?" "I am," replied the man at the table coolly. "Who the devil are you?"
To-night there was love in the duke's eyes as he looked down the table's length; there was love in the old chancellor's eyes, too; and in Carmichael's. And there was love in her eyes as she gazed back at the two old men. But who could read her eyes whenever they roved in Carmichael's direction? Not even Gretchen's grandmother, who lived in the Krumerweg.
He waved an impotent pillow, not daring to hurl it for fear of smashing the table's entire contents, but the black cat did not even glance toward him. It smelled the coffee, sneezed over it because it was hot, and finally proceeded to lap very daintily, pausing often to take breath or to shake its head, for cats disapprove of hot dishes, though they will partake of them at a pinch.
Looking at the Lord of Pagliano, who sat at the table's head, I observed that his glance was dark as it kept watch upon his daughter that chaste white lily that seemed of a sudden to have assumed such wanton airs. It was a matter that stirred me to battle, and forgotten again were my resolves to seek Gervasio, forgotten all notion of abandoning the world for the second time.
Macauley said this was the place for you to have your first dinner in your own home, and he made the women folks give in. So the table's all set, and I can hurry up dinner so's to have it as soon as the Doctor gets those folks fixed up if there ain't a lot more by that time.
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