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Updated: June 25, 2025
Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's Aunt Amy it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?" "Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken looks good!" "Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too."
But I hold, and I say it without fear of successful contradiction, that no member of a community can disregard the Sabbath in a public way without affecting the community at large. That is why I feel justified in criticising Mrs. Coombe's behaviour.
Can it be That puny fop, armed cap-a-pie, Who loves in the saloon to show The arms that never knew a foe." "My lady's compliments, ma'am, and she would he much obliged if you would remain till she comes home," was Coombe's reception of Alison. "She is gone to Avoncester with Master Temple and Master Francis."
Mary Coombe's a nice looking woman, if she is sloppy, and I guess she ain't any older than the doctor, if it comes to that. No, the doctor doesn't say much about it. He ain't a talking man. Sudden? Oh, I don't know. 'Tisn't as if they'd met like strangers. As you say, they might have kept company before. But I never heard of it. I always forget, Mrs. MacTavish, if you take sugar? One spoon or two?
But he had not talked to her for fifteen minutes before he knew that there was no real reason why he should ever again lose his colour at the sight of her. He had thought, at first, there was. This was the beginning of an acquaintance which gave rise to much argument over tea-cups regarding the degree of Coombe's interest in her.
Then the whole story was told the "upstairs" story with much vivid description, and the mentioning of many names and the dotting of many "i's". Dowson had heard certain things only through vague rumour, but now she knew and began to see her way. She had not heard names before, and the definite inclusion of Lord Coombe's suggested something to her.
He hoped very much that he did not flush in his sometimes-troublesome blond fashion then. He hoped so. "I shall be most happy to tell you anything I have the honour of knowing," he answered. "Only ask." "You would be capable of putting on a touch of Lord Coombe's little stiff air if you were not so young and polite," she said.
In her fine, aloof way, Helen Muir had learned much in her stays in London and during her married life in the exploring of foreign cities with her husband. She was not proud of the fact that in the event of the death of Lord Coombe's shattered and dissipated nephew her son would become heir presumptive to Coombe Court. She had not asked questions about Coombe. It had not been necessary.
Naturally," the chill of Coombe's voice was a sound to drive this particular man at this particular, damnably-thwarted moment, raving mad. And not to be able to go mad! Not to be able! "Swine of a doddering Englishman! Who would envy you trembling on your lean shanks whatsoever you can buy for yourself. I spit on you-spit!" "Don't," said Coombe.
You can trust Mark, if he is mournful. Of course I don't say that these rooms are the only rooms to let in Coombe, but I do think they're about as good as you can get being so near to Dr. Coombe's old house. People get used to coming for a doctor down this street." "But that was, over a year ago." "It takes more 'an a year for Coombe folks to change their ways.
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