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Updated: June 18, 2025
In a few minutes the fire had got so near, that it was impossible to get other horses, or move the wagon by hand and the wagon and contents were burned. Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Tharp tell a very interesting story of their experience on that April morning. Their sleeping room was one fronting on the east side of Scott Street, between Sacramento and California Streets.
And she stopped, but to still her own fears hurried on again. "If I'd known you'd been coming, I'd have kept Cecil Tharp. Vic has had such dear little puppies. Would you like one? They've all got that nice black smudge round the eye."
The garden is looking so beautiful, and there's Bee's engagement. The dear child is so happy!" The General caressed a whisker with his white hand. "Ah yes," he said "young Tharp! Let's see, he's not the eldest. His brother's in my old corps. What does this young fellow do with himself?" Mrs. Pendyce answered: "He's only farming. I'm afraid he'll have nothing to speak of, but he's a dear good boy.
In the drawing-room Beatrix was already giving tea to young Tharp and the Reverend Husell Barter. And the sound of these well-known voices restored to Mrs. Pendyce something of her tranquillity. The Rector came towards her at once with a teacup in his hand. "My wife has got a headache," he said. "She wanted to come over with me, but I made her lie down. Nothing like lying down for a headache.
"Perhaps," she thought, "he will make Grig stop it." She poured out Gregory's tea, followed Bee and Cecil Tharp into the conservatory, and left the two men together: To understand and sympathise with the feelings and action of the Rector of Worsted Skeynes, one must consider his origin and the circumstances of his life.
Gertrude Winlow, revolving like a faintly coloured statue, to young Tharp, with his clean face and his fair bullety head, who danced as though he were riding at a bullfinch. In a niche old Lord Quarryman, the Master of the Gaddesdon, could be discerned in conversation with Sir James Malden and the Reverend Hussell Barter. Mrs.
And there flashed before her with ridiculous concreteness the thought: 'I've got three hundred a year of my own! Then the whole feeling left her, just as in dreams a mordant sensation grips and passes, leaving a dull ache, whose cause is forgotten, behind. "There's the gong, Horace," she said. "Cecil Tharp is here to dinner. I asked the Barters, but poor Rose didn't feel up to it.
When the shock came it rolled their bed from one side of the room to the other, quite across the room, and where the bed had stood was filled with the broken chimney, to the amount of more than three tons. Mrs. Tharp remembers having oiled the castors on the bedstead only a short time before, which she thinks saved their lives.
On the other side of the fire Bee and young Tharp, whose chairs seemed very close together, spoke of their horses in low tones, stealing shy glances at each other. The light was failing, the wood logs crackled, and now and then over the cosy hum of talk there fell short, drowsy silences silences of sheer warmth and comfort, like the silence of the spaniel John asleep against his master's boot.
The Rector laughed. "Don't you worry about that; there's plenty of life in him." And he added unexpectedly: "I couldn't bear to put a dog away, the friend of man. No, no; let Nature see to that." Over at the piano Bee and young Tharp were turning the pages of the "Saucy Girl"; the room was full of the scent of azaleas; and Mr.
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