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Updated: May 1, 2025
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the hand of Mrs. Trevise move toward her bell; but she wished to hear all about it more than she wished concord at her harmonious table; and the hand stopped. Juno spoke again. "Who, pray, has later news than what I bring?" My enemy was in my hand; and an enemy in the hand is worth I don't know how many in the bush. I answered most gently: "I do not come from Mr.
A few steps from our front door I came upon John Mayrant, and saw at once too plainly that no ease had come to his spirit during the hours since the bridge. He was just emerging from an adjacent house. "And have you resigned?" I asked him. "Yes. That's done. You haven't seen Miss Rieppe this morning?" "Why, she's surely not boarding with Mrs. Trevise?" "No; stopping here with her old friend, Mrs.
After thirty-five years of boarders and butchers, life held no secrets or surprises for her; she was a mature, lone, disenchanted, able lady, and even her silence was like an arm of the law. An all too brief conversation, nipped by Mrs. Trevise at a stage even earlier than the bud, revealed to me that perhaps my fellow-boarders would have been glad to ask me questions, too.
The poor boy was buried in the north-west corner of the cemetery at Cambridge. Arthur put up a little tablet to him at Trinity and at St. Uny Trevise. In Memory of E. B., BORN AT TEHERAN; DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, NOV. 9, 1883. "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Arthur had an interview with Edward's companion on the fatal occasion. I subjoin the latter's account of it.
"Raw beefsteak's jolly good for your eye," observed the Briton. This suggestion did not appear to be heard by Juno. "I had a row with a chap," the Briton continued. He's my best friend now. He made me put raw beefsteak " "I thank you," interrupted Juno. "He requires no beefsteak, raw or cooked." The face of the Briton reddened. "Too groggy to eat, is he?" Mrs. Trevise tinkled her bell. "Daphne!
It's a mercy for that poor girl that the scales have dropped from her eyes and she has broken her engagement with him." "With the father?" asked a third et cetera. Juno stared at the intruder. Mrs. Trevise drawled a calm contribution. "The father died before this boy was born." "Oh, I see!" murmured the et cetera, gratefully. Juno proceeded. "No woman's life would be safe with him."
I have said to you twice to hand those yams." "I done handed 'em twice, ma'am." "Hand them right away, Daphne, and don't be so forgetful." It was not easy to disturb the composure of Mrs. Trevise. The poetess now took up the broken thread. "Had I a son," she declared, "I would sooner witness him starve than hear him take orders from a menial race."
"But mightn't he be safer for a person's niece than for their nephew?" said the Briton. Mrs. Trevise's hand moved toward the bell. But Juno answered the question mournfully: "With such hereditary bloodthirstiness, who can tell?" And so Mrs. Trevise moved her hand away again. "Excuse me, but do you know if the other gentleman is laid up, too?" inquired the male honeymooner, hopefully.
Trevise as she followed: "She pays her nephew's poker debts." "How much, cousin Tom?" asked the upcountry bride. And the gay old doctor chuckled, as he kissed her: "Thirty dollars this afternoon, my darling." At this the Briton dragged me behind a door in the hall, and there we danced together.
Close to Truro there is a little village called St. Uny Trevise. You have to leave the high-road to get to it. Its grey church tower is a conspicuous landmark for several miles round, standing out above a small wood of wind-swept oaks, on the top of a long broad-backed down, lately converted into farm-land, and ploughed up.
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