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Updated: June 10, 2025
His tail lashed savagely from side to side; it seemed to have nothing to do with his impassive bulk. Between his short horns was a triangle of red curls, short and dense. "Splendid animal," said Henry Wimbush. "Pedigree stock. But he's getting a little old, like the boar." "Fat him up and slaughter him," Mr. Scogan pronounced, with a delicate old-maidish precision of utterance.
Wimbush, to whom the Fair was a cause of recurrent and never-diminishing agony, from putting a stop to the nuisance which yearly desecrated his park and garden. "I've made all the arrangements already," Henry Wimbush went on. "Some of the larger marquees will be put up to-morrow. The swings and the merry-go-round arrive on Sunday."
"So there's no escape," said Anne, turning to the rest of the party. "You'll all have to do something. As a special favour you're allowed to choose your slavery. My job is the tea tent, as usual, Aunt Priscilla..." "My dear," said Mrs. Wimbush, interrupting her, "I have more important things to think about than the Fair.
Little country practitioner as he was, he literally packed off the Princess. She departed as promptly as if a revolution had broken out, and Guy Walsingham emigrated with her. I was kindly permitted to remain, and this was not denied even to Mrs. Wimbush. The privilege was withheld indeed from Dora Forbes; so Mrs. Wimbush kept her latest capture temporarily concealed.
It appears this eminent lady's staying at a house a few miles off, which means of course that Mrs. Wimbush has forcibly annexed her. She's to come over in a day or two Mrs. Wimbush wants her to hear Mr. Paraday. "To-day's wet and cold, and several of the company, at the invitation of the Duke, have driven over to luncheon at Bigwood.
Floyd found on the table when he got up early next morning did not begin "I am much surprised," and it was such a motherly, respectful, inconsequent, regretful letter that he kept it for many years; long after his marriage with Miss Wimbush, of Andover; long after he had left the village.
Wimbush and has sat for his portrait to the young artists she protects, sat for it not only in oils but in monumental alabaster. What happened at Prestidge later in the day is of course contemporary history.
"Miss Dolly Miles, Miss Rebecca Balister, Miss Doris Gabell..." Five young persons ranged themselves on the brink. From their seats of honour at the other end of the pool, old Lord Moleyn and Mr. Callamay looked on with eager interest. Henry Wimbush raised his hand. There was an expectant silence. "When I say 'Go, go. Go!" he said. There was an almost simultaneous splash.
It was the polite voice of Henry Wimbush. A crowd of sleek, seal-like figures in black bathing-dresses surrounded him. His grey bowler hat, smooth, round, and motionless in the midst of a moving sea, was an island of aristocratic calm. Holding his tortoise-shell-rimmed pince-nez an inch or two in front of his eyes, he read out names from a list.
It does Mrs. Wimbush, however, for she has consented to his remaining in bed so that he may be all right to-morrow for the listening circle. Guy Walsingham's already on the scene, and the Doctor for Paraday also arrived early. I haven't yet seen the author of 'Obsessions, but of course I've had a moment by myself with the Doctor.
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