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Parker, Gilbert, 1860-1932

"The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Complete"


I've done no good. I've earned my end.' He looked as though he was
waiting for the clock to go on striking, half raising himself up in bed,
with Miss Faith's arm under his head. He whispered to her then--he
couldn't speak by this time. 'It's twelve o'clock,' he said. Then there
came some words I've heard the priest say at Mass, 'Vanitas,
Vanitatum,'--that was what he said. And her he'd lied to, there with him,
laying his head down on the pillow, as if he was her child going to
sleep. So, too, she had him buried by her father, in the Quaker
burying-ground--ay, she is a saint on earth, I warrant."
For a moment after he had stopped the Duchess did not speak, but kept
untying and tying the blue ribbons under her chin, her faded eyes still
fastened on him, burning with the flame of an emotion which made them
dark and young again.
"So, it's all over," she said, as though to herself. "They were all
alike, from old Broadbrim, the grandfather, down to this one, and back to
William the Conqueror."
"Like as peas in a pod," exclaimed Soolsby--"all but one, all but one,
and never satisfied with what was in their own garden, but peeking,
peeking beyond the hedge, and climbing and getting a fall.


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