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Updated: June 26, 2025
It is true his ear is not sufficiently familiar with the language to understand French verse, and he generally goes to sleep during the performance. The wit of the French comedy is flat and pointless to him. He would not give one of Munden's wry faces or Liston's inexpressible looks for the whole of it. He will not admit that Paris has any advantage over London.
A whole day passed in which, to my certain knowledge, he was not alone a moment with Miss Liston, and did not, save at the family meals, exchange a word with her. As he walked off with Pamela, Miss Liston's eyes followed him in wistful longing; she stole away upstairs and did not come down till five o'clock. Then, finding me strolling about with a cigarette, she joined me.
"Well you know Miss Liston's character better than I do, Sep. And no doubt you are right. And you are not that little boy, so it doesn't matter; does it?" After a pause he turned and glanced sideways at Miriam, who was looking straight in front of her with steady eyes and white cheeks. They could hear Loo Barebone singing gaily in the boat, which was hidden below the level of the dyke.
And don't forget your promise to say nothing to Waboose or anyone else about Liston's packet." "Not a word, my boy." That afternoon my friend set off on snow-shoes accompanied by two men. "Any message, Max?" he said, at parting. "Of course. My kind regards to everybody." "Nothing warmer to anybody?"
Without pretending to Miss Liston's powers, I have the little subtlety that is needful to show me that more than one kind of smile may be seen on the human face, and that there is one very different from others; and finally, that that one is not evoked, as a rule, merely by the evolution of the troublesome encumbrance in pretty writing, vulgarly called a "plot."
For yours, because I am sure you must be relieved, and for well, for everybody's sake. Tell me all about it, please." And she pushed her chair sideways nearer to Colville's. John Turner bit the first joint of his thumb reflectively. It is so rare that one can tell any one all about anything. "Tell me first," Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence suggested, "whether Miriam Liston's money is all safe as well."
She had hardly gone in when the wanderers came out of the shrubbery and rejoined me. Chillington wore his usual passive look, but Miss Liston's face was happy and radiant. Chillington passed on into the drawing-room. Miss Liston lingered a moment by me. "Why, you look," said I, "as if you'd invented the finest scene ever written." She did not answer me directly, but stood looking up at the stars.
"The age prefers them married," I remarked. This conversation happened on the second day of Miss Liston's visit, and she lost no time in beginning to study her subjects. Pamela, she said, she found pretty plain sailing, but Chillington continued to puzzle her. Again, she could not make up her mind whether to have a happy or a tragic ending.
Pamela was far too deficient in the commodity to be made anything of without such re-enforcement, even by an art more adept at making much out of nothing than Miss Liston's straightforward method could claim to be. A week passed, and then, one Friday morning, a new light burst on me. Miss Liston came into the garden at eleven o'clock and sat down by me on the lawn.
He was not aware of any morbid ideas as to his sexual organs, and although he had an attack of gonorrhea ten years before he seemed to worry very little over it. There is an account of a Scotch boy who wished to lead a "holy life," and on two occasions sought the late Mr. Liston's skilful aid in pursuance of this idea.
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