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This thing had been known in London yesterday afternoon. It was this knowledge which had sent Brian Walford to Kingthorpe to claim his wife. She had suddenly become a wife worth claiming the daughter of Sir Reginald Palliser of Wimperfield. 'You knew this, she repeated, looking at her husband, with infinite scorn expressed in eye and lip. 'No, upon my soul, he answered; 'I left town early.
That is to say, George and Tom did; but poor Walford, on being offered a share, shook his head, murmured that he was not hungry, and closed his eyes again in patient suffering. The balance of the catch was carefully cleaned and strung up on the yard, in the hope that it would dry in the sun. Their great want now was water.
There had been no change at the Abbey in the years which were gone since Brian Walford claimed his bride, except that the new schools had been built under Colonel Wendover's superintendence. The old house still resembled the palace of the sleeping beauty; except that trustworthy servants took care of it, and kept moths, spiders, mice, and all such small deer at a distance.
McQuade came down early that morning. The first thing he did was to call on the editor of the Times. "Here's something," he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on the editor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford." "What is it?" asked Walford. "Read it and see for yourself." McQuade sat down and picked up the early New York papers. Walford read slowly.
"That's my handwriting, there's no doubt about it, written when I gave the book to my cousin Susan, as she was about to marry Henry Walford," muttered Mr Fluke to himself. He was then silent for some time, forgetting, apparently, that any one was in the room.
C. Walford to the London Librarians' Conference, "would send his books to the binder, without indicating the lettering he desires on the backs." The only safe-guard is for the librarian or owner to prescribe on a written slip in each volume, a title for every book, before it goes to the binder, who will be only too glad to have his own time saved since time is money to him.
I am sincerely sorry if you are disappointed, Edward, but I could never give you any other answer, so please say no more about it." "One word more," exclaimed Walford. "Tell me I have a right to know do you love any one else?"
"But don't worry yourself by trying to guess the answers to any of them just now, you have been ill; but, thank God, you are getting better again. When you are well enough to listen, I will tell you all I know; until then you must be satisfied with the assurance that you are as safe as a man can be in a tight little ship, with fine weather and plenty of sea-room." "Safe!" ejaculated Walford.
"How do, aunt? Lucy, fair coz, I hope I see you in a state of perfect salubrity?" was his nonchalant greeting. Mrs Walford replied that "she was as well as could be expected," she did not say under what adverse circumstances and Lucy requested him not to make himself ridiculous.
Finally, on that same evening, when George and Mr Bowen were in the saloon together, chatting over the tea-table, the after-cabin door being open, so as to insure a current of air through the apartment, Walford, who had been asleep, suddenly started up in his cot with the exclamation "Surely that is Leicester's voice?"
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