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Updated: June 20, 2025
Just now the associations he attached to her were various she reminded him of a heroine of Meredith's but a heroine at the end of the book. All had been written about her. She had played her mighty part, and knew that it was over. He and he alone was not content, and wrote for her daily a trivial and impossible sequel. Last time they had talked about Gerald.
It was not long before the sound of the paddles was quite distinct, and then probably on turning a corner of the river and coming in sight of the lights of Msala Jack Meredith's cheery shout came floating through the night. Oscard took his pipe from his lips and sent back an answer that echoed against the trees across the river.
OUR story has to follow a little way an infinitesimal personage. Abner, the ungratefulish one, with a bundle tied up in a handkerchief, strode stoutly away toward Mr. Meredith's grazing ground. "I am well out of that place," was his reflection. As he had been only once over the ground before, he did not venture to relax his pace lest night should overtake him in a strange part.
"In the first place, I would not take Lord Lufton's horse; in the second place, I would not take Lady Meredith's habit; in the third place, I should be a great deal too much frightened; and, lastly, it is quite out of the question for a great many other very good reasons." "Nonsense," said Lord Lufton. "A great deal of nonsense," said Lucy, laughing, "but all of it of Lord Lufton's talking.
He scoffed at me for liking Diana and Richard Feverel better, because they were easier. And now, nothing's bad enough for Meredith's 'stilted nonsense' 'characters without a spark of life in them' 'horrible mannerisms' you should hear him. Except the poems ah, except the poems! He daren't touch them. I say do you know the 'Hymn to Colour'?" The girl's eager eyes questioned her companion.
It does seem incredible to me that a man of your discrimination could have been won by the obvious devotion of a girl like Dolly; but having given your word I almost think you would better have kept it, rather than suffer all this criticism from a host of mutual friends." Lavendar groaned aloud. He had a good memory, and with all too great distinctness did he now remember Dolly Meredith's laugh.
Either this shaking, or something else, put the two maidens in a mood quite unbefitting the day, for in the moment they tarried outside the church while the coach was being placed in the shed, Miss Drinker's face was frowning, and once again Miss Meredith's nails were dug deep into the little palms of her hands. "Yes," Janice whispered. "She put it in the fire. Dadda saw her."
That is clearly Meredith's thought in undertaking this chronicle; he proposes to show how it makes the history, the moral and emotional history, of the man through whom it is uttered. Harry's adventures, ambitions, mistakes, successes, are the gradual and elaborate expression of him, complete in the end; they round him into the figure of the man in whom Meredith saw his book.
It had travelled down from the Simiacine Plateau with others, in a parcel beneath the mattress of Jack Meredith's litter. It was a letter written in good faith by an honest, devoted man to the woman whom he looked upon already as almost his wife a letter which no man need have been ashamed of writing, but which a woman ought not to have read unless she intended to be the writer's wife.
She always leaves one here, in order that she may be able to ride when she comes." "She would not think of taking such a liberty with Lady Meredith's things," said Fanny, almost frightened at the proposal. "Of course it is out of the question, Fanny," said Lucy, now speaking rather seriously.
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