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Updated: June 9, 2025
"There are three men, who are not Farlingford men, on the outer side of the sea-wall below the rectory landing. Turner must have placed them there. I'll be even with him yet. There is a large fishing-smack lying at anchor inside the Ness just across the marsh. It is the 'Petite Jeanne. I found this out while you were in there. I could hear your voices." "Could you hear what he said?"
He turned and lifted his face to the breeze which blew from the sea over flat stretches of sand and seaweed the crispest, most invigorating air in the world except that which blows on the Baltic shores. "I prefer Farlingford. I am half a Clubbe and the other half! Heaven knows what that is! The offshoot of some forgotten seedling blown away from France by a great storm.
Turner quitted the enclosure of the Tuileries gardens and crossed the quay toward the Pont Royal. But he stopped short under the trees by the river wall, with a low whistle of surprise. Crossing the bridge, toward him, and carrying a carpet-bag of early Victorian design, was Mr. Septimus Marvin, rector of Farlingford, in Suffolk.
Below the churchyard was the wide street which took a turn eastward at the gates and led straight down to the river-side. Farlingford Quay a little colony of warehouses and tarred huts was separated from Farlingford proper by a green, where the water glistened at high tide. In olden days the Freemen of Farlingford had been privileged to graze their horses on the green.
I have never seen him so upset about anything, and Juliette did not seem to be able to offer him any consolation." "Back to France?" echoed Barebone, not without a tone of relief, almost of exultation, in his voice. "Will it be possible to go back there, since we have to run away from Farlingford?" "Safer there than here," replied Colville. "It may sound odd, but it is true.
He had shaken hands with the rector and with Miriam Liston as he spoke, and his speech was not the speech of Farlingford men at all, but rather of Septimus Marvin himself, of whose voice he had acquired the ring of education, while adding to it a neatness and quickness of enunciation which must have been his own; for none in Suffolk could have taught it to him.
The hands were on the forecastle, still busy clearing decks after the confusion of letting go anchor and hauling in the jib-boom. Barebone could see them leave off work and turn to look at him. One or two raised a hand in salutation and then turned again to their task. Already the mate a Farlingford man, who had succeeded Loo was standing on the rail fingering a coil of rope.
His listeners noted the care with which he attended to gesture and demeanour, and accounted it to him for righteousness; for they were French. An English audience would have thought him insincere, and they would have been wrong. "The letter is dated from a place called Farlingford, in England. I have never heard of it. It is nowhere near to Twickenham or Clarement, nor is it in Buckinghamshire.
He had always wondered why Miriam Liston elected to live at Farlingford when with her wealth and connections, both in England and France, she might live a gayer life elsewhere. There must, he reflected, be some reason for it.
Clacy was responsible for this piece of news, and her profession giving her the entree to almost every back door in Farlingford enabled her to gather news at the fountain-head. For Mrs. Clacy went out to oblige. She obliged the rectory on Mondays, and Mrs. Clubbe, with what was technically described as the heavy wash, on Tuesdays. Whatever Mrs.
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