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时间:2020-02-29 02:49:07 作者:汪小菲向司机道歉 浏览量:52454

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I waited patiently for the thought, of which this wink was the blossom, to come to fruit in words.

The signal came at last.

chapter 7

A wandering thrush of a cockney whistled it on their first expedition. Dolly went out a little resentfully with Arthurs broad back obscuring most of her landscape, and her third ride ended in a destructive spill down Ipinghanger Hill. The bicycle brake was still in a primitive stage in those days; one steadied ones progress down a hill by the art, since lost to mankind again, of back-pedalling, and Dollys feet were carried over and thrown off the pedals and the machine 29got away. Arthurs nerve was a good one. He fought the gathering pace and steered with skill down to the very last bend of that downland descent. The last corner got them. They took the bank and hedge sideways and the crumpled tandem remained on one side of the bank and Arthur and Dolly found themselves torn and sprained but essentially unbroken in a hollow of wet moss and marsh-mallows beyond the hedge.

{25}

190

Persuasion failed to move her, and with a kindly, regretful "good-night" Mrs. Greaves watched her climb into her trap and drive away. She had an uneasy suspicion that Rafella's determined refusal was due not so much to her outraged feelings as to either the hope, or the certainty, that Mr. Kennard would come over to see her during the evening.

An officer laid rough hands on the aged Moschion: “Old bald head, your time on earth is about up, anyway. You may as well journey on without delay. Old Charon is waiting to ferry you across the Styx.”

“Severe bronchitis is no joke to a man of my age,” said Mr. Shaw ruefully. “But I am afraid Mr. Vavasour has suffered from the hard work entailed by my absence, especially with this unexpected worry coming on top of everything.”

Tromp said, or rather shouted, at this terrible instant, "The brazen hussy!" and with one fierce scowl that took in both Macfarren and the Lady Marian, and with a wild rustle of draperies, she flew down the corridor, the swish-swish of her trained dress sounding like the flapping wings of a frightened domestic fowl.

“Bien!” he said at length, with a curious look on his face. “The plot develops. Pass me, I pray you, that ‘Peerage’ on the top shelf there.” He turned the leaves. “Ah, here we are! ‘Yardly . . . 10th viscount, served South African War’ . . . tout ça n’a pas d’importance . . . ‘mar. 1907 Hon. Maude Stopperton, fourth daughter of 3rd Baron Cotteril’ . . . um, um, um, . . . ‘has iss. two daughters, born 1908, 1910. . . . Clubs . . . residences.’ . . . Voilà, that does not tell us much. But to-morrow morning we see this milord!”

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