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Updated: June 15, 2025
Sabre essayed to laugh it off. "My wife's rather a sudden person, you know." Twyning joined very heartily in the laugh. "Is she?" He looked around. "She's seeing you off, I suppose?" "No, she's not. She's not too well. Got a rotten cold." Twyning stared again in what struck Sabre as rather an odd way. "Oh, I'm sorry, old man. Nothing much, I hope. Well, you'll want to be getting in.
Answer me this question then. Is it the fact that your wife has instituted divorce proceedings against you? "'Look here "Court surging with sensation at this dramatic disclosure. Humpo mopping his face, keeping the great forefinger going. Sabre clutching the desk like a man in asthma, Twyning tugging at Humpo's coat. 'Yes, yes, says Humpo, bending down, then launches at Sabre again.
He stopped his swinging arm, holding his hand above the flames. "He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God and God in him; for God is love." He opened his fingers, and the crumpled letter fell and was consumed. He pushed himself up from the mantlepiece and turned and went over to Twyning and stood over him again. He patted Twyning's heaving shoulders. "There, there, Twyning. Bad luck. Bad luck.
From the central, vestry-like showroom a broad and shallow stairway led to a half-landing, containing the clerks' office, and thence to the spacious apartment of Mr. Fortune with which, by doors at either end, communicated the offices of Sabre and of Mr. Twyning. Many stately and eminent persons and no ill-to-do or doubtful persons passed up and down this stairway on visits to the principals.
After this, after the war had done this, how was he to go on enduring the war and refused part in it? He dreaded meeting Mabel. He dreaded going on to the office and meeting Fortune and Twyning. To none of these people, to no one he could meet, could he explain how he felt about Young Perch and what he had gone through with Mrs.
Hard. Hard. Bear up, Twyning. Soldier's death.... Finest death.... Died for his country.... Fine boy.... Soldier's death.... Bad luck. Bad luck, Twyning...." Twyning, inarticulate, pushed up his hand and felt for Sabre's hand and clutched it and squeezed it convulsively. Sabre said again, "There, there, Twyning. Hard. Hard.
Everybody wanted to talk to somebody. He went into Mr. Fortune's room. Mr. Fortune and Twyning and Harold were gathered round a map cut from a newspaper, all talking; even young Harold giving views and being attentively listened to. They looked up and greeted him cordially. Everybody was cordial and communicative to everybody. "Come along in, Sabre."
Well done, Harold. That's splendid. Jolly good luck to you." Later in the morning Twyning came in. He entered abruptly. His air, and when he spoke, his manner, struck Sabre as being deliberately aggressive. "Well, Harold's gone," he said. "Yes, I'm jolly glad for the boy's sake. I was just congratulating him. I think it's splendid of him." Twyning breathed heavily through his nose. "Splendid? Hur!
Now I'm being pitched into the street to let Lord Tybar have a house that's no more his than the man in the moon's. D'you call that right?" "No, I don't," said Sabre, but with a tinge of impatience. "I call it rotten." Twyning seemed surprised. "Do you, though? Well, how about that book? I mean to say " "I shall say so in the book. Or as good as say so." Twyning pondered. "Shall you, by Jove?
And of course it's a strain never knowing.... Well, well, he's in God's hands; and he's such a good, earnest boy." Extraordinarily different Twyning the father of Harold, and Twyning in daily relations. His leave drew on. He might get his orders any day now. Mabel was much occupied with her rehearsals.
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