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Updated: June 14, 2025
Would it be quite convenient ?" "You shall have it," Mr. Waddington declared, thrusting his hand into his trousers pocket. "I can't afford it, for things are going badly with me. Here it is, though. Thirty-four shillings that's near enough. Anything else?" "There is one other thing," Burton said slowly. "It is rather a coincidence, sir, that we should have met just here.
"Certainly," said Mr. Waddington. And when Pyecraft came the next day with the proofs he said, "I think, sir, we've got the proportions very well." Mr. Waddington stared at the proofs, holding them in a hand that trembled slightly with emotion. With a just annoyance. For though Pyecraft had certainly got the proportions of the library, Mr.
"Come, Waddington, you know as well as I do that when a man's knocked about the world like you and me, he gets an instinct; he can tell pretty well by looking at her whether a woman's that sort or not." "My dear Corbett, my instinct is at least as good as yours. I've known Mrs. Levitt for three years, and I can assure she's as straight, as innocent, as your wife or mine."
He couldn't believe that old Waddington would do anything of the sort. "Unless," Major Markham suggested, "he's been got at. Mrs. Levitt may have got at him." He was a good sort, old Waddy, but he would be very weak in the hands of a clever, unscrupulous woman. The Rector said he thought there was no harm in Mrs. Levitt, and Major Markham replied that he didn't like the look of her.
Waddington wisely acceded to his views, and, had he lived, would doubtless have lived to become a rich man. He died, however, within four years of his marriage, and it so fell out that his wife did not survive him above a year or two. Of this marriage, Caroline Waddington, our heroine, was the sole offspring. Mr.
It had never come to an engagement; it had been only an understanding; but she thought of dreadful things, even of his possible suicide, whenever she contemplated giving him the final blow. The old-fashioned Waddington house stood on a big Spanish lot far out in the Mission.
Madame Waddington was a great friend of the late King Edward VII, who never passed through Paris without calling to see her and lunching with her and her family.
That his bones were buried there, the Jews at least believe; for Jewish fathers, as they walk by with their children, bid their boys each cast a stone there to mark their displeasure at the child who rebelled against his parent. It is now nearly full of such stones. While Miss Waddington was arranging her toilet within the tomb of St.
"I can feel the change already." Burton eyed him anxiously. "Cigarette taste all right now?" "Delicious!" Mr. Waddington replied. "Most exquisite tobacco! Makes me shiver inside to think how I could ever have smoked that other filthy rubbish." "No idea of calling in at the Golden Lion on your way back, eh?" Burton persisted. Mr. Waddington's expression was full of reproach.
No more nonsense, if you please, Mr. Waddington," she continued, shaking out her duster. "Is that an engagement with you on Thursday night, or is it not?" Mr. Waddington measured with his eye the distance to the door. He gripped Burton's arm and looked over his shoulder. "It is not," he said firmly. They left the place a little precipitately.
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