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Updated: June 14, 2025
Should a conflict of wills not merely exist but break out into expression in war, internationalism, though outwardly so powerful, must inevitably go by the board and the ancient foundations upon which Europe rests stand poignantly revealed. Such a conflict of wills Mr. Belloc has always seen to exist between Prussia and the rest of the nations of Europe.
There must be something in her something that don't appear something she doesn't know about, herself. What is it? Maybe it was only vanity and vacillation. Again, I don't know." The difficulty Mrs. Belloc labored under in her attempt to explore and map Mildred Gower was a difficulty we all labor under in those same enterprises.
I've no patience with people who slide back, or don't get on people who get less and less as they grow older. The trouble with them is they're vain, satisfied with themselves as they are, and lazy. Most women are too lazy to live. They'll only fix up to catch a man." Mildred had grown sober and thoughtful. "To catch a man," continued Mrs. Belloc. "And not much even for that.
They stand out with the same clearness, the same reality, as the landscapes and physical features that Mr. Belloc describes: they bear the same witness to his curious gift for receiving an impression whole and clean, and presenting it again with lucidity. This want of exaggeration we find again in the common-sense tone of his descriptions.
Inaction began to fret her nerves, and she wished to be doing something to show her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity. She telephoned Mrs. Brindley that she would come in the morning, and then she told her landlady. Mrs. Belloc was more than regretful; she was distressed. Said she: "I've taken a tremendous fancy to you, and I hate to give you up. I'd do most anything to keep you."
But it is an ingredient in the mass of his writing that cannot be dismissed without discussion. Mr. Belloc realizes to the full the position of poetry in life. He gives it the importance of an element which builds up and broadens the understanding and the spirit.
"I bought him out to-day, and I hear he's going to join Belloc." "Belloc! Belloc! Who told you that?" asked the young man. "Junia Shale she told me." Carnac laughed. "She knows a lot, but how did she know that?" "Sheer instinct, and I believe she's right." "Right right to fight you, his own father!" was the inflammable reply. "Why, that would be a lowdown business!"
Belloc, who preaches the happiness of a peasant proprietary, is so much wiser than his thoughts that he sails about the seas in a little yacht or goes afoot from Belgium to Rome. We are winning our freedom again once more, a freedom renewed and enlarged, and there is now neither necessity nor advantage in a permanent life servitude to this place or that.
"Well, Fabian has to put money into something," she answered, "and the only business he knows is lumber business. Don't you think it's natural he should go to Belloc?" "Did he ever say so?" asked the old man with savage sullenness. "Tell me. Did he ever say so?" The girl shook back her brave head with a laugh. "Of course he never said so, but I know the way he'll go." The old man shook his head.
Hence M. Belloc would take her "en observatrice, mais pas en curieuse" with the air of observation, but not of curiosity. At it he went. I stood behind and enjoyed. Rapid creative sketching in chalk and charcoal. Then a chaos of colors and clouds, put on now with brushes, now with fingers. "God began with chaos," said he, quoting Prudhon. "We cannot expect to do better than God."
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