2021-04-18 10:23:30

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

ENGLISH Oh, that, she said. Dear Julia; I hope we shall be great friends again, when I come back from Brighton. I shall be very glad to, I am sure.He looked at her, and saw that her face seemed flushed. That, no doubt, was owing to the heat of the room where she had been working. He pushed a ledger and a pile of typewritten sheets towards her.CHAPTER VII

Cuthbert Silverdale was not unaware of the emotion which he had roused in so many female breasts, and it is impossible to acquit him of a sort of clerical complacency in the knowledge that so many young ladies gazed and gazed on him with a mixture of religious and personal devotion. Though a firm believer in the celibacy of the clergy, he did not feel himself debarred from sentimental relations with both married and unmarried members of his flock, indeed the very fact that nothing could conceivably come of these little mawkishnesses made them appear perfectly{108} licit. He held their hands, and took their arms, and sat at their knees, and called them dear girls two or three at a time, finding safety perhaps in numbers, and not wishing to encourage false hopes. He was an incorrigible if an innocent flirt; a licensed lap-dog practising familiarities which, if indulged in by the ordinary layman, would assuredly have led to kickings. In some curious manner he quite succeeded in deceiving himself as to the propriety of those affectionate demonstrations, and considered himself a sort of brother to all those young ladies, who worked for him with the industry (and more than the excitement) of devoted sisters. To do him justice he was just as familiar with the male members of his congregation, and patted his boys on the back, and linked his arm in theirs, but it would be idle to contend that he got as much satisfaction out of those male embraces.Ten pounds! he said. I shouldnt dream of giving more than seven for it. Even that would be a fancy price.

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

Dimly, like the moving of an unborn child, the sense of beauty, that profitless thing, without which there is no profit in all the concerns of the world, began to trouble Keeling with a livelier indication of life than any that he had yet experienced from it. In some disconnected way it was connected with Johns education and Lord Inverbrooms manner, and the denizens of the windows of the County Club as opposed to those who more numerously gathered in the windows of the Town Club next door. Propert, his salesman in the book department, had a cousinship to these men who made gargoyles and beautiful books, whereas Emmeline was only cousin to the pilasters in the Town Hall and the No. 1 drawing-room suite. Properts sister, according to her brothers account, had the same type of relationship as himself. But the main point about her was her swiftness in shorthand writing and the accuracy of her transcription on to the typewriting machine. Keeling had never had a secretary who finished a heavy days work in so short a time. He owed her the extra half-hours leisure, which had led{86} to this appreciation of the gargoyles and buttresses of the Cathedral. For thirty years he had passed this way almost daily, but until to-day he had never seen them before in the sense that seeing means a digestion of sight.

Charles, you ought to go to bed, she said, and stop there to-morrow.

There was not a word in reply, and after having given her good space to answer him, he spoke again.

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

�,�,�,�,�,�,�

I remember. Stupid, insipid sort of thing. I never could make out why you recommended me to buy it.So you are back too, Thomas, she said, and what a pity you did not get back sooner. Lord Inverbroom has just called, and left a note for you. I wonder you did not see him in the Cathedral, for he went to service there. I said you always took a walk on Sunday morning after service, so sooner than wait, he wrote a note for you. Oh, you have it in your hand. What a curious handwriting his is: I should have thought a spider from the ink-pot could have done better than that, but no doubt you will be able to make it out. Of course I asked him to stop to lunch, for whether we are alone or expect company, Im sure my table is good enough for anybody. Alice will not be here: she has gone to lunch with Mr Silverdale.{241}

Yes; he usually comes with me in the evening, said Norah, but he is in bed with a very bad cold.She went to the window and brought back her strip of pomegranates.Well, he was not going to ask twice after one refusal of his favours, but, as the next week went by, he found the sir and the dropped eyes altogether intolerable. These absolutely impersonal relationships were mysteriously worrying. She had shown herself a compatriot of the secret garden, and now she had retreated into the shell of the secretary again. This week the weather turned suddenly cold, and since there was no fireplace in her room, he invited her to sit at the table by the window in his, which was close to the central-heating hot-water pipes. A certain employer-sense of pride had come to his aid, and now he hardly ever glanced at her. But one day the whole card-house of this pride fell softly on the table, just as he took his hat and stick after the days work.

Copyright © 2020

Copyright © 2015.All rights reserved.More welcome downlaod - Collect from power by english Blok gbk no. 10425013018-4w888-time1107-1118-4.ga english

Apr-18 10:23:30