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Updated: May 26, 2025
She had not seen her nephew Sam for ten years, and would have been willing to extend the period. She remembered him as an untidy small boy who once or twice, during his school holidays, had disturbed the cloistral peace of Windles with his beastly presence. However, blood being thicker than water, and all that sort of thing, she supposed she would have to give him five minutes.
It suddenly occurred to me that mother was going to be away in America all the summer, so why shouldn't I make a private deal, let them the house, and make it a stipulation that I was to stay there to look after things? And, to cut a long story short, that's what I did." "You let Windles?" "Yes.
The ever-present fear that had haunted her had been exorcised. Windles was hers in perpetuity. The relief was too great. She sat in her chair and gulped; and Eustace, greatly encouraged, emerged slowly from the bedclothes like a worm after a thunderstorm. How long this poignant scene would have lasted, one cannot say. It is a pity that it was cut short, for I should have liked to dwell upon it.
If Bennett goes to your father about this binge, your father will get onto the fact that Windles has been let, and he'll nose about and make enquiries, and the first thing that'll happen will be that mother will get to hear of it, and then where shall I be?" Sam pondered. "Yes, there's that," he admitted. "Well, now you see what a hole I'm in." "Yes, you are. What are you going to do about it?"
The morning sunlight fell pleasantly on the garden of Windles, turning it into the green and amber Paradise which Nature had intended it to be. A number of the local birds sang melodiously in the under-growth at the end of the lawn, while others, more energetic, hopped about the grass in quest of worms.
Hignett strode to the door with a forbidding expression. This, as she had justly remarked, was intolerable. She remembered Bream Mortimer. He was the son of the Mr. Mortimer who wanted Windles.
It won't last long three minutes, perhaps, by a good stop-watch but that is not my fault. My task is to record facts as they happened. The morning sunlight fell pleasantly on the garden of Windles, turning it into the green and amber Paradise which Nature had intended it to be.
She had not been parted from her son since he had come down from Oxford; and she would have liked to keep him with her till the end of her lecturing tour. That, however, was out of the question. It was imperative that, while she was away, he should be at Windles.
At this point many, indeed most, women, having had a tiring journey, would have gone to bed: but the familiar Hampshire air and the knowledge that half an hour's walking would take her to her beloved home acted on Mrs. Hignett like a restorative. One glimpse of Windles she felt that she must have before she retired for the night, if only to assure herself that it was still there.
Bennett lights his candle one of the charms of Windles was the old-world simplicity of its lighting system and we are enabled to get a better view of him. Mr. Bennett sat in the candlelight with his tongue out and the first beads of a chilly perspiration bedewing his forehead. It was impossible for a man of his complexion to turn pale, but he had turned as pale as he could. Panic gripped him.
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