Rest Harrow: A Comedy of Resolution

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C. Scribner's Sons, 1910 - 398 pages
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Page 381 - Beyond question," he continues, "there are such beings upon the earth, visitors or sojourners by chance, whose true commerce is elsewhere, in a state not visible to us, nor to be apprehended by most of us; whose relation with mankind is temporary. The spheres which govern us, govern not them, and their conduct is dictated by their good pleasure, where ours goes after the good pleasure of our betters. Thus a man may, if he can, take a goddess or nymph to wife, but should not be disconcerted with what...
Page 398 - ... health than if he were travelling in Italy, and it is hard to imagine a trip better worth making than the trip from Mombassa to Nairobi and on to the Victoria Nyanza. REST HARROW A COMEDY OF RESOLUTION BY MAURICE HEWLETT ILLUSTRATION BY FRANK CRAIG "Rest Harrow grows in any soil. . . . The seeds may be sown as soon as ripe in warm, sheltered spots out of doon. ... It is a British plant."— Weathers.
Page 196 - ... presently, she stole white-footed down the slant rays of the moon and fed his soul upon exhalations of her own. Idle as he might have appeared to one who did not know the man — for beyond the routine of his handiwork he did nothing visible — he was really intensely busy. Out of the stores reaped and garnered in those meditative years was to come the substance of his after-life. But no man in England may live three years in a grass- valley unreported ; his fame will spread abroad, scattered...
Page 216 - First, her fine esteem in her own spotless robe, which you have smeared with beastly blood and heat; next, her sense of reason clear as day; next, and worst, her logical faculty by which she sees it to be a law of the earth that nothing can be bought without a price. Oh, you precious young donkey! And who the mischief are you, pray, to meddle in the affairs of high ladies — you, who can't manage your own better than to do with your foolish muscles what is the work of a man's heart? Love! You don't...
Page 8 - Senhouse set a watch upon himself. " No doubt she is," he said. " She's well?" The other probed him. "She's never made it up with her people. I think she feels it nowadays." Senhouse asked sharply, "Where's Ingram?" " Ingram, "said Chevenix, " is just off for a trip. He's to be abroad for a year. India.
Page 185 - ... Thus the world might read of "The Squire of Wanless, every inch a soldier," in one journal, and of "Nevile Ingram Esquire of Wanless Hall " in another. There are no politics in policereports; but broadcloth is respectable. The prisoner was described as "Struan Clyde, twenty-three, a sickly looking young man, who exhibited symptoms of nervousness." It was allowed that he spoke " firmly but respectfully to the Bench," but, on the other hand, "to the complainant he showed considerable animosity,...
Page 71 - ... was because of her black gown — • fairer that is and paler, entered the hall, she found the party at a loose end. Mr. Chevenix was in a deep chair, turning o.ver Bradshaw and whistling softly to himself. Ingram, hands in pockets, was deprecating the portraits of his ancestors to the two ladies, who were not at all interested in them. He appeared to be considerably bored by his guests and they to be aware of it. Miss Percival's arrival was timely if only because she effectively chased out...
Page 62 - ... Percival, at about nine o'clock, came gently down one of these alleys, with a scarf over her head and shoulders. She looked like a nymph in Tanagra. As if she knew where she was going, exactly, she walked gently but unfalteringly between the linked crocus-beacons to where the alley broadened intoa bay of cut yews, to where ghostly white seats and a dim sun-dial seemed disposed as for a scene in a comedy. The leaden statue of a skipping faun would have been made out in a recess, if you had known...
Page 79 - ... of Mrs. Benson, the midnight mate of young gardeners, disturber of high ladies' comfort, serene controller of Wanless — she was, it would seem, all things to all men, as men could take her. But now she had the fell look of a cat, the long, sleek, cruel smile, the staring and avid eyes. A cat she might be, playing with her own beating heart, patting it, watching its throbs. These moments of witchcraft gazing were not many. They had been deliberately begun and were deliberately done with. Within...
Page 226 - ... me, and took it seriously. She thought me a man of God. I failed absolutely, and so badly that by rights I ought never to have held up my head again. But she is happy, dear little soul, after her own peculiar fashion — which she never could have been with me. She writes to me now and then. The man is her master, but not a bad one. She knows it, and glories in him. Isn't that extraordinary?

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