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Updated: May 25, 2025
Before Bagley could make his way out, however, Turl, who had been watching him, managed to get to his side. Larcher, waving a good-night to Barry Tompkins, followed the two from the room. In the hall, he handed the stakes to Turl. "Oh, yes, you win all right enough," admitted Bagley. "My fun will come later."
The selfishness and depravity into which men are driven, and the vices of which being thus impelled they are capable, exemplified as these vices were in my narration, drew heavy sighs from the gentle and kind hearted Lydia, made her much oppressed brother groan in spirit, and excited in Turl those comprehensive powers that trace the history of facts through a long succession, and teach, by miseries that are past, how miseries in future are to be avoided.
With an adroitness that somewhat surprised himself, he put his facts before the young lady in such a non-committal way as to make her think herself the first to point the finger of suspicion at Turl. Important with her discovery, she promptly ignored her former partisanship of that gentleman, and was for taking Florence straightway into confidence.
The law, I understand, is your present pursuit. Do you suppose it possible to practise the law, in any form, and be honest? 'Sir! Mr. Turl? You amaze me! Where is the dishonesty of pleading for the oppressed? 'How little have you considered the subject! How ignorant are you of the practice of the law! Oppressed? Do counsel ever ask who is the oppressed?
Rather than accept it on such terms, were there ten thousand Serpentine rivers I would drown in them all! Turl glanced significantly first at me and then at Wilmot. 'Do you consider the danger, the possible consequences, of the doctrine you are now inculcating, Mr. Trevor? Too much devoured by passion to attend to his reproof, in the sense he meant it, I retorted in a still louder key.
He soon showed his civility by adroitly contriving to include Florence and Larcher in his conversation with Mr. Kenby. Talk ran along easily for half an hour upon the shop windows during the Christmas season, the new calendars, the picture exhibitions, the "art gift-books," and such topics, on all of which Mr. Turl spoke with liveliness and taste.
This was my only armour, against the severe pangs with which I was so unexpectedly assaulted. Gloomy meditations, or pills for the passions: More of Enoch's morality: Turl improves, yet is still unaccountable and almost profane: Consecrated things: Themistocles and vengeance: A love scene: More marriage plots: And a tragi-comic denouement: The fate of Themistocles: The manuscript in danger
Is it necessary to say the virtues of Turl and Wilmot are too splendid to need my praise: or that my social hours are most beneficially and delightfully spent in their society? That I have amply provided for the generous-minded Clarke? That Philip is once more the good and faithful servant of a kind mistress? That Mary and her son are equally objects of my attention?
This apparent disinclination increased Larcher's hidden curiosity as to who Francis Turl might be, and why Davenport had never mentioned him before, and what might be between the two for settlement. Davenport put Turl's writing back into the drawer, but continued to regard his own. "'A vile cramped hand," he quoted.
We'll see what another transformation'll make you look like. We'll see how clipped hair and a striped suit'll become you." Larcher glanced in sympathetic alarm at Turl; but the latter seemed perfectly at ease. "You appear to be laboring under some sort of delusion," he replied. "Your name, I believe, is Bagley." "You'll find out what sort of delusion it is.
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