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Updated: June 17, 2025
And going out, he shut the door on any possibility of answer. Mr. Treffry lay back amongst his cushions. The clock ticked; pigeons cooed on the veranda; a door opened in the distance, and for a moment a treble voice was heard. Mr. Treffry's head drooped forward; across his face, gloomy and rugged, fell a thin line of sunlight.
Christian's gaze was never for a moment withdrawn; she seemed trying to store up the sight of him within her. The light darting through the half-closed shutters gave her eyes a strange, bright intensity, and shone in the folds of her white dress like the sheen of birds' wings. Mr. Treffry glanced uneasily about him. "God knows I don't want anything but her happiness," he said.
Treffry took a lengthy draught. "Broken my promise; don't matter won't hurt any one but me." He took up the pipe and pressed tobacco into it. "I've been lying here with this pain going right through me, and never a smoke! D'you tell me anything the parsons say can do me half the good of this pipe?" He leaned back, steeped in a luxury of satisfaction.
"You are unjust," said Christian. Mr. Treffry grunted. "Ah, well! I like to know where I am. If I lend money to a man, I like to know whether he's going to pay it back; I may not care whether he does or not, but I like to know. The same with other things.
Planting his hat askew on his head, he began slowly to descend the stairs. Nicholas Treffry sat reading the paper in his room by the light of a lamp with a green shade; on his sound foot the terrier Scruff was asleep and snoring lightly the dog habitually came down when Greta was in bed, and remained till Mr. Treffry, always the latest member of the household, retired to rest.
Christian smiled. There was a curious happy restlessness in her that would not let her keep still. "Picture finished?" Mr. Treffry asked suddenly, taking up the paper with a crackle. "Don't go and fall in love with the painter, Chris." Christian was still enough now. 'Why not? she thought. 'What should you know about him? Isn't he good enough for me? A gong sounded. "There's your dinner," Mr.
Not too much remained when Nicholas Treffry stepped in, and caused his sister to settle what was left on her daughters, after providing a life-interest for herself and Paul. Losing his supplies, the good man had given up his cards. But the instinct of the "freeman" was still living in his breast; he took to drink. He was never grossly drunk, and rarely very sober.
It was after this attack that the twin forts were built, at Polruan and Fowey, to protect the mouth of the river, and a chain was dropped at night between the two, as was the practice at Dartmouth. It must have been on another occasion that the wife of Thomas Treffry, as Leland tells us, "repelled the French out of her house in her husband's absence."
Treffry's uneasy snoring; the reins were hanging loose, and, peering out, he saw Dominique shuffling along at the horses' heads. He joined him, and, one on each side, they plodded up and up. A haze had begun to bathe the trees, the stars burnt dim, the air was colder. Mr. Treffry woke coughing.
I shall know that there's a death fight going on in her and outside her against me you think that I can go on working under these conditions. Others may be able, I am not. That's the plain truth. If I loved her less " There was a silence, then Mr. Treffry said: "It isn't fair to come here and ask what you're asking.
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