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Updated: June 8, 2025
"You sit here, Maria; you won't get the sun in your eyes." "No, Robert; I'll sit here. You sit there." "No, YOU sit there." "No, I will. Come, Duckie!" But the dog, standing stockily on the pathway was gazing at Gyp, while what was left of its broad nose moved from side to side. Mr. Wagge followed the direction of its glance. "Oh!" he said, "oh, this is a surprise!"
Wagge, whose mouth had opened slightly, and whose breathing could certainly have been heard in the street, took a step forward and said: "Do I understand you to say that you're not goin' to take proceedings, ma'am?" Gyp shuddered, and shook her head. Mr. Wagge stood silent, slightly moving his face up and down.
And fumbling at his straw hat, he passed his other hand over his sleeve and held it out to Gyp. It felt almost dry, and fatter than it had been. While she was shaking it, the dog moved forward and sat down on her feet. Mrs. Wagge also extended her hand, clad in a shiny glove. "This is a a pleasure," she murmured. "Who WOULD have thought of meeting you!
She had a perfect view of his thick red neck in its turndown collar, crossed by a black bow over a shiny white shirt. And, holding out her hand, she said: "How do you do, Mr. Wagge? It was kind of you to come." Mr. Wagge turned. His pug face wore a downcast expression. "I hope I see you well, ma'am. Pretty place you 'ave 'ere. I'm fond of flowers myself. They've always been my 'obby."
But Gyp noticed none of them, except now and again a dog which sniffed her knees in passing. For months she had resolutely cultivated insensibility, resolutely refused to face reality; the barrier was forced now, and the flood had swept her away. "Proceedings!" Mr. Wagge had said.
The girl answered, with piteous eagerness: "Oh, would you like it? Do take it. Count Rosek gave it me." She started away from the door. "Oh, that's papa. He'll be coming in!" Gyp heard a man clear his throat, and the rattle of an umbrella falling into a stand; the sight of the girl wilting and shrinking against the sideboard steadied her. Then the door opened, and Mr. Wagge entered.
And she held out her hand. Mr. Wagge took it in a lingering manner. "Well, I HAVE an appointment," he said; "a gentleman at Campden Hill. He starts at twelve. I'm never late. GOOD-morning." When she had watched his square, black figure pass through the outer gate, busily rebuttoning those shining black gloves, she went upstairs and washed her face and hands.
They're supposed to be most powerful, I believe." "Thank you not more deadly than most. Are you drinking them?" Mr. Wagge smiled. "Nao!" he said, "we live here." "Indeed! Do you find anything to do?" "Well, as a fact, I've come here for rest. But I take a Turkish bath once a fortnight find it refreshing; keeps the pores of the skin acting." Mrs.
Wagge's thickset, stoutly planted form, thick-skinned, thick-featured face, thick, rather hoarse yet oily voice. It was as if Providence had arranged a demonstration of the extremes of social type. And she said: "Mr. and Mrs. Wagge my father." Winton raised his hat. Gyp remained seated, the dog Duckie being still on her feet. "'Appy to meet you, sir. I hope you have benefit from the waters.
Wagge added gently: "It seems to suit my husband wonderfully." Winton murmured: "Yes. Is this your dog? Bit of a philosopher, isn't he?" Mrs. Wagge answered: "Oh, he's a naughty dog, aren't you, Duckie?" The dog Duckie, feeling himself the cynosure of every eye, rose and stood panting into Gyp's face. She took the occasion to get up. "We must go, I'm afraid. Good-bye.
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