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Updated: August 15, 2024
Only once have I seen my little chap shrink, and that was when my father gave him a look of unusual intensity, looking for his mother in him perhaps." "Mr. Upjohn, forgive me the question; it seems necessary. Does your father or rather did your father before he fell ill ever walk in the direction of the grotto or haunt in any way the rocks which surround it?" "I cannot say.
"He is picking my father's favourite flowers, a few late honeysuckles." "How fortunate! Speak to him, Mr. Upjohn. Ask him how your father is this evening." "Accompany me and I will; and do not be afraid to enter into conversation with him. He is the mildest of creatures and devoted to his patient. He likes nothing better than to talk about him."
Roger Upjohn, sitting by himself in the library, was watching the hands of the mantel clock slowly approaching the hour of nine. Never had silence seemed more oppressive nor his sense of loneliness greater. Yet the boom of the ocean was distinct to the ear, and human presence no farther away than the terrace where Arthur Strange could be seen smoking out his cigar in solitude.
I will have to speak to her, replied Miss Upjohn. But Miss Briggs did not let the matter rest there. She said nothing more at the time; but after school was over she went to the head-mistress's room, meaning to talk the matter over. 'Miss Upjohn, excuse me, began Miss Briggs. Miss Upjohn patiently put her pen down.
What does anybody know about him beyond that the Bishop recommended him, as if a Bishop must know what's what better than other people, forsooth! Don't tell me!" said Mrs. Upjohn, in unutterable scorn. "He's a new broom, and he's raising a big dust, and I would liefer have Mr. White back and let the dust lie, that's all!" But the Joppites were far from sharing Mrs. Upjohn's sentiments. Mr.
Don't look this way, Miss Phebe. They'll discover me. What's Mr. Hardcastle saying?" "The world is very evil." "'The times are waxing late. Why doesn't he add that and go?" "He never goes. He only comes." "What is Mrs. Upjohn so wrought up about?" "She caught one of her Sunday-school boys breaking Sunday." "How?" "Eating apples." "Horrible! Where?" "Up in a tree." "Whose tree?"
Perhaps you've noticed that she's got a pretty side to her face as well as a plain one?" "I can't say I've noticed it particular much," said the hollow-turner, blandly. "Well," continued Upjohn, not disconcerted, "she has. All women under the sun be prettier one side than t'other. And, as I was saying, the pains she would take to make me walk on the pretty side were unending!
Vava was called into the head-mistress's study that morning, and went in looking very hot and indignant, but came out smiling, and said to Doreen, 'It's all right. 'What's all right? demanded Doreen, staring. 'Oh I forgot you know nothing about it. Well, it does not matter; it was only something that was bothering me, and it's all right now. Miss Upjohn is a brick, explained Vava.
And urging the gentlemen to help themselves, he quietly left the room. Mr. Upjohn lifted the glass nearest him, and Mr. Cornell seemed about to do the same when he suddenly reached forward and catching up one farther off started for the room in which Mr. Spielhagen had so deliberately secluded himself.
Cronshaw was often so ill-humoured that Philip could only keep his temper by remembering all the time that this irritability was a symptom of the disease. Upjohn came sometimes before Philip was in, and then Cronshaw would complain of him bitterly. Upjohn listened with complacency. "The fact is that Carey has no sense of beauty," he smiled. "He has a middle-class mind."
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