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Updated: June 24, 2025
He did his best to disguise his condition from his uncle, but he felt that his answers to the later questions about Lord Torrington were vague, and he became more and more confused about Sir Lucius' views of Woman Suffrage. One thing alone became clear to him. Sir Lucius was not anxious to join his sister in the drawingroom. Frank entirely shared his feeling.
My chaise companion was a man very well known in 'Society'; and though not remarkably popular, was not altogether undistinguished, as the following little tale will attest. Frederick Byng, one of the Torrington branch of the Byngs, was chiefly famous for his sobriquet 'The Poodle'; this he owed to no special merit of his own, but simply to the accident of his thick curly head of hair.
"Nobody could call Isabel fat. That police sergeant of yours is a fool, Lentaigne. I always said he was. If Isabel is in this neighbourhood at all she's living in some country inn." "The sergeant said he'd make inquiries about the lady he mentioned," said Sir Lucius. "We shall hear more about her tomorrow." "She had a Primus stove with her," said Frank. "That's no help," said Lord Torrington.
This is a fight and we fight to a finish, please. By your leave we do not take the count until tomorrow morning." "I'm not made of money," Cassis complained. "Very well then, if you are determined to sell sell to me." "Are you crazy?" "Possibly. Come over here." Mr. Torrington took Cassis by the arm and led him to the excited group surrounding Ezra P. Hipps.
Goodnight." The door closed and a moment later came the sound of water splashing into the bath. "Well, what do you think?" Cranbourne demanded enthusiastically. "A nice boy," Mr. Torrington returned. "Straight. I'm wondering how much he will have to go through in the next three weeks." "Yes, but from our point of view?" "Ah, from our point of view I think we might declare a dividend.
Is it likely now that there'd be a tin can full of whisky on Inishbawn?" Priscilla stamped her foot. "You've got quarts," she said, "and gallons." "Arrah, talk sense," said Kinsella. "Very well," said Priscilla. "I don't want to give you away, but rather than see Lord Torrington sink into his grave with rheumatic fever for want of a drop of whisky I'll expose you publicly.
He was at odds with him, however, on the question of rhyme, the use of which he wrote against in very indifferent blank verse. Puritan divine, b. at Loughborough, of which his f. was curate, studied at Camb., and became, in 1652, minister of Great Torrington, Devonshire, where he was famous for the unusual length of his sermons and prayers.
The most a battle could have given in the circumstances could only have left the command in dispute, and the worst would have given the enemy a positive result, which must have gravely compromised William's campaign in Ireland. On these lines Torrington replied to the Government.
"Yes," said Frank. "At Haileybury." "What are you doing in that bath-chair with the young lady wheeling you? Is that the kind of manners they teach at Haileybury?" "Please," said Priscilla, speaking very gently. "It's not his fault." "He has sprained his ankle," said Sir Lucius. "He can't walk." "Oh," said Lord Torrington. "Sprained ankle, is it?" He turned and walked back to the lawn.
"I'm afraid our Ricky-ticky's hardly in a state to give very reliable information." "Sixty-five Howland Street," said Rickman faintly, and the two smiled. "It was Torrington Square, but I forget the number." "Sixty-five Howland Street," repeated Rickman with an effort to be distinct. Maddox shook his head.
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