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Updated: June 21, 2025
Our present mode of life is a farce. We are drifting farther apart every day. Perhaps I have changed. I know you have. We are two strangers chained together. We have made a muddle of it, and the best thing we can do is to admit it. "I am no good to you. I have no part in your present life. You're the queen and I'm just the prince consort, the fellow who happens to be Mrs. Winfield's husband.
The epithet of "Sister of Cannae" shows that Klopstock followed some chronologers, according to whom, Varus was defeated on the anniversary of the day on which Paulus and Varro were defeated by Hannibal. FROM KLOPSTOCK'S "HERRMAN UND DIE FURSTEN." Supposed to be sung by a Chorus of Bards. Sister of Cannae! Winfield's fight!
"I certainly will, Mr. Dingle." "Mind if I look in?" "I shall be delighted. I can offer you a cigar that I think you'll appreciate, and we can continue this little chat at our leisure. Mrs. Winfield's dining out, and that there Porter, thank Gawd, 'as gone to Boston." At One in the Morning William Bannister Winfield slept the peaceful sleep of childhood in his sterilized cot.
Winfield's evening schools is occasionally wafted back to me with many pleasant memories and associations. Compulsory education was the iron hand that directed the young ideas how to shoot, though it was enveloped in a soft velvet glove. Mr.
Ruth bought a hideous red table-cloth, which she knew would please Hepsey, greatly to Winfield's disgust. "Why do you do that?" he demanded. "Don't you know that, in all probability, I'll have to eat off of it? I much prefer the oilcloth, to which I am now accustomed."
Robert Walter Winfield was descended from an ancient family, which had been settled in Leicestershire for several generations. His grandfather, Edward Winfield, came to Birmingham about the middle of the last century, and resided in a large house, on the site of the Great Western Railway Station in Snow Hill. Here Mr. Winfield's father was born.
Finally, he held what was practically an official position in the family councils on the strength of being William Bannister Winfield's godfather. He loved William Bannister as a son, and it had been one of his favourite day dreams to conjure up a vision of the time when he should be permitted to undertake the child's physical training.
"Well, I don't," said Norah. "What is it all about?" "There's not very much I can tell you about it, missy," Blake said, scratching his head and looking down at the grave lace. "Nobody knows much about it. "Winfield's a little bit of a place about twenty miles from 'ere, you know right in the bush and away from any rail or coach line. On'y a couple o' stores, an' a hotel, an' a few houses.
His singular courtesy to myself, as a stranger, I shall never forget. His perfect self-possession, when some of the company became a little too demonstrative, kept the table in perfect order. When he retired, my friend took his seat, and slily poured me a glass from Mr. Winfield's decanter.
"You ain't eatin' much," she suggested. "I'm not very hungry." "Be you sick, Miss Thorne?" "No not exactly. I've been out in the sun and my head aches," she replied, clutching at the straw. "Do you want a wet rag?" Ruth laughed, remembering an earlier suggestion of Winfield's. "No, I don't want any wet rag, Hepsey, but I'll go up to my room for a little while, I think. Please don't disturb me."
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