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Updated: June 6, 2025
Relying on their machine-gun and rifle fire to overcome the Americans' resistance, the enemy's artillery had been drawn into the deepening salients; but in spite of all-day fighting the straggling line had held. After a few questions from Durwent they relapsed into silence, gazing at the undulating expanse of country revealed by the ascending sun. 'Selwyn. Dick cleared his throat nervously.
Although he had ordered sentiment and prejudice to leave his mind unclogged, these two passions cannot be dismissed by mere will-power. He was keenly moved by the meeting with Dick Durwent, and, almost unknown to himself, his love for Elise was a smouldering fever whose fumes mounted to his head.
'Hush-sh! Her hand touched his beneath the table, reprovingly and tenderly. 'Mr. Selwyn, said Lady Durwent, 'you have not tasted your soup. Lady Durwent was blessed in the possession of a cook whose artistry was beyond question, if the same could not be said of the guests to whom she so frequently ministered.
'Good-night, he said, his face flaming suddenly red. 'Good-night, she answered, taking his proffered hand. 'I shall go with you, said Lord Durwent. The two men walked through the corridors, which were growing quieter as the night advanced, and, with another exchange of farewells, Selwyn went out into the dark.
The warmth of early afternoon was giving way to the cool mood of twilight but the solitary figure had not moved. Nine days had passed when a motor-lorry drew up on the road, and the same sergeant ordered Dick Durwent to take his place outside the hut with his escort.
In the long line of your family, sir, not one has died more gloriously. Lord Durwent's hands gripped the arms of his chair, and Lady Durwent looked wildly up through her tears. Elise stood pale and motionless. 'It is true, said Selwyn. 'I tell you' 'There is nothing, said the older man 'there can be nothing for you to tell that would make our shame any the less. My son was shot' 'Lord Durwent'
Lady Durwent summoned a blush, and rose to meet the ardent author, who was dressed in a characterless evening suit with disconsolate legs, and whose chin was heavily powdered to conceal the stubble of beard grown since morning. 'You have come, she said softly and dramatically. 'I have, said the writer, bowing low over her hand. 'I rely on you to be discreet, she murmured. 'Eh?
'Are women in the habit of tracking you in this way? 'I'm sorry, he answered, lazily thrusting his hands into his pockets. 'As a matter of fact you are never very far from my thoughts. Perhaps that is why I felt no surprise. 'How are you enjoying your visit? 'Tremendously. 'How do you like the guests? 'Is this a catechism, Miss Durwent?
He was dimly conscious that dinner was announced, and that amidst a babel of tongues he was being led by, or was leading, Lady Durwent into the dining-room. He heard the resolutionist and Dunckley both talking at once, and felt the melancholy languor of Pyford floating like incense through the air.
The ironmonger's daughter had the idea that Malcolm, being her son, was hers to mould. 'My dear, said Lord Durwent, exerting his authority almost for the first time, 'the boy is eight years of age, and no time must be lost in preparing him for Eton and inculcating into him those qualities which mark' 'But, cried his wife with theatrical unrestraint, 'why send him to Eton?
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