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Updated: June 9, 2025
Sorell knew that she was thinking of the Magdalen ball, of which he had by now heard several accounts. He guessed she meant that her provocation of Falloden had contributed to the tragedy, and that the thought tormented her. But neither of them mentioned Falloden's name. Sorell put out his hand and grasped hers.
And he beckoned imperiously to a neighbouring group of men, "bloods" always ready to follow him in a "rag," and heroes together with him of a couple of famous bonfires, in Falloden's first year. They came up, eager for any mischief, the summer weather in their veins like wine. They stood round Falloden laughing and chaffing, till finally three of them disappeared at his bidding.
And for some time I couldn't go to Communion at all. I always felt Falloden's hand on my shoulder, as he was pushing me down the stairs; and I wanted to kill him! just that! You know our Polish blood runs hotter than yours. I didn't want the college to punish him. Not at all. It was my affair. After I saw you in town, it grew worse it was an obsession.
Meyrick reported that the latest news from Marmion was that Sorell and Fanning between them had decided to take Radowitz up to town that afternoon for the opinion of Sir Horley Wood, the great surgeon. "Have you seen Sorell?" "Yes. But he would hardly speak to me. He said we'd perhaps spoilt his life." "Whose?" "Radowitz's." Falloden's expression stiffened. "That's nonsense.
Why doesn't he ride with you sometimes, as he chose your horse?" "I understand the whole of Oxford would have a fit if a girl went out riding with an undergraduate," said Constance, her voice muffled in the pillow. Then, after a moment she sprang up, and began to brush her hair. "Mr. Falloden's not an undergraduate now. He can do what he likes," said Nora. Constance made no reply.
Her mind ached under the feelings that filled it feelings wholly disinterested and pure. "You really are taking the Boar's Hill cottage?" she asked, addressing Radowitz. "I think so. It is nearly settled. But I am trying to find some companion. Sorell can only come occasionally." As he spoke, a wild idea flashed into Falloden's brain.
Falloden's was an impulse of repentance; and Otto's had been an impulse of pardon, in the Christian sense. "If I am to die, I will die at peace with him." Was that the thought the tragic and touching thought in the boy's mind? As to Falloden, could he do it? could he rise to the height of what was offered him? She prayed he might; she believed he could. Her whole being was aflame.
As Constance departed, a bright and feverish red had rushed into his cheeks; but it had only made his aspect more ghostly, more unreal. Again the absurd idea emerged in Falloden's consciousness; and this time it seemed to find its own expression, and to be merely making use of his voice, which he heard as though it were some one else's. He bent over towards Radowitz.
These things are very familiar to our generation. In the eighties, they were only a vision and a possibility, and Falloden's lavish expenditure was in fact stimulating one of the first inventors. But Connie also was playing an important part.
"What's wrong with him?" said Annette after a pause adopting a tone in which she might have discussed a new hat. "Oh, I don't know," said Connie dreamily. She was thinking of Falloden's sudden departure from Oxford, after his own proposal of two more rides.
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