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Updated: June 6, 2025
Yes, he should go to the scaffold yet for he wouldn't know quite whom. He almost, for that matter, felt on the scaffold now and really quite enjoying it. It worked out as BECAUSE he was anxious there it worked out as for this reason that Waymarsh was so blooming.
And I know" it was slightly irrelevant, but he gave it sudden and singular force "I know they'd like you!" "Oh don't work them off on ME!" Waymarsh groaned. Yet Strether still lingered with his hands in his pockets. "It's really quite as indispensable as I say that Chad should be got back." "Indispensable to whom? To you?" "Yes," Strether presently said. "Because if you get him you also get Mrs.
They would dine together at the worst, and, with all respect to dear old Waymarsh if not even, for that matter, to himself there was little fear that in the sequel they shouldn't see enough of each other.
"Like all of you together like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their products. We're abysmal but may we never be less so! Mr. Newsome," she continued, "meanwhile takes Miss Pocock ?" "Precisely to the Francais: to see what you took Waymarsh and me to, a family-bill." "Ah then may Mr. Chad enjoy it as I did!" But she saw so much in things.
"Well, I haven't KNOWN but what you are. You're a very attractive man, Strether. You've seen for yourself," said Waymarsh "what that lady downstairs makes of it. Unless indeed," he rambled on with an effect between the ironic and the anxious, "it's you who are after HER. IS Mrs. Newsome OVER here?" He spoke as with a droll dread of her. It made his friend though rather dimly smile.
"Then what did you come over for?" "Well, I suppose exactly to see for myself without their aid." "Then what do you want mine for?" "Oh," Strether laughed, "you're not one of THEM! I do know what you know." As, however, this last assertion caused Waymarsh again to look at him hard such being the latter's doubt of its implications he felt his justification lame.
It was at present as if the backward picture had hung there, the long crooked course, grey in the shadow of his solitude. It had been a dreadful cheerful sociable solitude, a solitude of life or choice, of community; but though there had been people enough all round it there had been but three or four persons IN it. Waymarsh was one of these, and the fact struck him just now as marking the record.
Our friend could at last conscientiously answer. "Yes. One. There IS a matter that has had much to do with my coming out." Waymarsh waited a little. "Too private to mention?" "No, not too private for YOU. Only rather complicated." "Well," said Waymarsh, who had waited again, "I MAY lose my mind over here, but I don't know as I've done so yet." "Oh you shall have the whole thing. But not tonight."
I told him about you. He gave me his card," Strether pursued, "and his name's rather funny. It's John Little Bilham, and he says his two surnames are, on account of his being small, inevitably used together." "Well," Waymarsh asked with due detachment from these details, "what's he doing up there?"
He had been to Notre Dame with Waymarsh, he had been there with Miss Gostrey, he had been there with Chad Newsome, and had found the place, even in company, such a refuge from the obsession of his problem that, with renewed pressure from that source, he had not unnaturally recurred to a remedy meeting the case, for the moment, so indirectly, no doubt, but so relievingly.
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