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Updated: June 8, 2025
Bourne saw at once the cloud which was rising on the horizon when, at the first committee meeting to choose the eleven against "The Cognoscenti" Mivart said, "Well, Bourne, we've got your partner for to-morrow ready made. I think we may put that new chap Acton down right off." "Rather," said Vercoe. "He can't be left out." "Best back we've seen for an age-barring Phil, of course," said Baines.
Vercoe was standing at her door as Penelope passed. "Good-morning, missie," she said. "I reckon you'm fond of walking. I was the same when I was young. Oh my! what bootiful flowers!" Penelope stayed to display her treasures. "You must have one of them, Mrs. Vercoe," she said, selecting one of the handsomest roses from her bouquet. Mrs. Vercoe was vastly pleased.
The only result of their plan was to attract more attention to themselves; but of this they were happily unconscious, and once inside the little, low, dim, crowded place, their joy seemed unbounded. If Mrs. Bennett had repelled them, plump, jolly-looking Mrs. Vercoe, with her round rosy face and kindly, smiling eyes, attracted them at once.
She blushed as she spoke, for she was shocked at Penelope's behaviour. But Mrs. Vercoe would not hear of it. "Why no, my dear; 'tisn't likely she'd be wanting to buy it now she mostly knows what's in it. You'd rather have another, wouldn't you, missie? and it don't make no manner of diff'rence to me."
"I wanted to find you and Essie. I was 'fraid to see Cousin Charlotte with my dirty pinny on; and I came out here and you weren't anywhere, and then I was so tired I lay down. Oh, it took me such a long time, but Mrs. Vercoe said it was beautiful parsley. Do you think it is beginning to grow yet, Pen?"
Angela and Poppy accepted; Esther held back with shy reluctance. "Oh no, thank you," she said. "We are so many." "Well, they'm only farden buns," said Mrs. Vercoe, with a little chuckle; "but p'r'aps you'd rather have one of these," and she held out to Esther an apple. Esther felt more embarrassed than ever. Mrs. Vercoe seemed to think she had declined the bun because she wanted something better.
Close at his heels was the blurred outline of something small and unquestionably horrid. I cannot define it. I dare not attempt to diagnose the sensations it produced. Apart from a deadly, nauseating fear, they were mercifully novel. "Dashing past us, Mr Vercoe literally hurled himself along the corridor, and with almost superhuman strides, disappeared downstairs.
"And and please," she went on, growing painfully embarrassed, for it was not easy now it had come to the point, "do you want an egg, Mrs. Vercoe?" Mrs. Vercoe looked even more surprised, but she only said civilly that she "could do with a dozen." "I've only one at present," said Angela. "It is one my own hen laid, but you can have some more to-morrow morning."
"On the following night my husband sat up in the room adjoining our bedroom, to see if there would be a repetition of what had taken place the night before, but nothing occurred, and we never heard the noises again. "That is one experience. The other, though not our own, was almost coincidental, and happened to our engineer friend, Mr Vercoe.
In a minute he recovered his thoughts, and said eagerly, "Then I've won." "Not quite," said Vercoe, grimly. "You've jolly well lost." Acton tottered to his feet blind with rage diabolic rage but hate and fury couldn't give him strength to stand. Vercoe gently caught him, and laid him quietly on his back, and sponged his face where the awful force of Phil's blow was becoming plainer every moment.
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