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Updated: June 19, 2025


And the next moment he went straight to the matter in hand. "An' what's this thing you've coom to aassk me, Miss Cartaret?" "Well" she looked at him and her gray eyes were soft and charmingly candid "it was if you'd be kind enough to sing at our concert. You've heard about it?" "Ay, I've heard about it, right enoof." "Well won't you? You have sung, you know." "Yes. I've soong.

In the big houses they didn't remember Gwenda Cartaret. They only remembered to forget her. But in the little shops and in the little houses in Morfe there had been continual whispering. They said that even after Dr. Rowcliffe's marriage to that nice wife of his, who was her own sister, the two had been carrying on.

"Can I see you for two minutes?" "Yes." They whispered rapidly. At the head of the stairs Mary waited. He turned. His smile acknowledged and paid deference to her sweetness and goodness, for Rowcliffe was sufficiently accomplished. But not more so than Mary Cartaret. Her face, wide and candid, quivered with subdued interrogation.

Cartaret said to himself that the tune Alice was playing was an abominable tune and must be stopped at once. He went into the drawing-room to stop it. And Essy, in the kitchen, raised her head and dried her eyes on her apron. "If you must make a noise," said Mr. Cartaret, "be good enough to make one that is less disturbing." He stood in the doorway staring at his daughter Alice.

For three months, off and on, in the intervals of seeing Alice, he longed, with an intense and painful longing, for his God. He longed for him just because he felt that he was utterly separated from him by his sin. He wanted the thing he couldn't have and wasn't fit to have. He wanted it, just as he wanted Alice Cartaret. And by his sin he did not mean his getting drunk.

You you beast, Mary," she sobbed. And Mr. Cartaret began again, "Am I to stand here " Alice got up, she broke loose from them and left the room. "You might have known she wasn't going to drink it," Gwenda said. But the Vicar never knew when he was beaten. "She would have drunk it," he said, "if Mary hadn't interfered." Alice had not got the pneumonia that had killed John Greatorex.

Cartaret saw his youngest daughter for the first time since their violent rupture he gazed at her tranquilly and said, "And where have you been all this time?" "Not very far, Papa." He smiled sweetly. "I thought you'd run away from your poor old father. Let me see was it Ally? My memory's going. No. It was Gwenda who ran away. Wasn't it Gwenda?" "Yes, Papa." "Well she must come back again.

They declared their displeasure with the members of the council who had joined the lower house in their complaints against Trott and removed them from the board, appointing others in their place, and increasing the number of members; and told Yonge, that he also would have been deprived of his seat but for the high respect they had for Lord Cartaret the absent Palatine, whose deputy he was.

Cartaret had contrived to alienate one after another by his deplorable legend and by the austere unpleasantness of his personality. People had not been prepared for intimacy with a Vicar separated so outrageously from his third wife. Nobody knew whether it was he or his third wife who had been outrageous, but the Vicar's manner was not such as to procure for him the benefit of any doubt.

Rowcliffe had ten minutes on his hands while they were bringing his trap round from the Red Lion. He was warming his hands at the surgery fire when he heard voices in the parlor on the other side of the narrow passage. One voice pleaded, the other reserved judgment. "Do you think he'd do it if I were to go up and ask him?" It was Alice Cartaret's voice. "I caann't say, Miss Cartaret, I'm sure."

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