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Yes, I wept." That was such a tremendous thing to think of, and especially to speak of in Mr. Bradshaw's presence, for the most pathetic image in the world to many women is that of themselves in tears, that it brought a return of the same overflow, which served as a substitute for conversation until Miss Badlam entered the apartment. Miss Cynthia followed the same general course of remark.
Look D'Artagnan; everybody is looking at her; and in spite of Bradshaw's gaze she has not turned pale." "It is Lady Fairfax herself," said D'Artagnan. "Don't you remember, Porthos, we saw her at General Cromwell's?" The roll call continued. "These rascals will adjourn when they find that they are not in sufficient force," said the Comte de la Fere. "You don't know them.
The child of a woman who lived in open sin!" He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt would have crossed his mind. That a member of Mr. Bradshaw's church could receive such people as Caillaud and Pauline would have seemed impossible.
But it was with some little surprise, and almost with a feeling of disgust, that she heard Richard join with her father in condemning some one, and add to Mr Bradshaw's list of offences, by alleging that the young man was a playgoer. He did not think his sister heard his words.
It is evident that the publishers and editors of the period were less critical than Miss Mitford, for, in 1848, we find that Mrs. Howitt was invited to write the opening volume of Bradshaw's series of Railway novels, while in February 1850, came a request from Charles Dickens for contributions to Household Words.
But he was secretly dissatisfied with Mr Donne. In general, that gentleman had been rather too willing to act in accordance with any one's advice, no matter whose; as if he had thought it too much trouble to weigh the wisdom of his friends, in which case Mr Bradshaw's would have, doubtless, proved the most valuable.
Mr Benson was shown into Mr Bradshaw's own particular room. The latter gentleman was walking up and down, and it was easy to perceive that something had occurred to chafe him to great anger. "Sit down, sir!" said he to Mr Benson, nodding to a chair. Mr Benson sat down. But Mr Bradshaw continued his walk for a few minutes longer without speaking. There was no answer from Mr Benson.
George thought that what Pauline said just as he had thought of Mr. Bradshaw's sermon seemed to be said for him; and yet what did she know about him? Nothing. He was silent.
On the northeast corner of California and Sansome streets was Bradshaw's zinc grocery store. The growth of the city southward had already begun. The effort to develop North Beach commercially had failed. Meiggs' Wharf was little used; the Cobweb Saloon, near its shore end, was symbolic. Telegraph Hill and its semaphore and time-ball were features of business life.
He felt, in a vague way, that he and Susan were being patronized, which is not a pleasant feeling to persons with a certain pride of character. There was no expression of contempt about Mr. Bradshaw's manner or language at which he could take offence.
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