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Somehow she couldn't help uttering these over-true words. And then she turned, eager and half frightened, to see how Bunting had taken what she said.
But he looked quite placid, as if he had hardly heard her. "We don't get the good old fogs we used to get - not what people used to call 'London particulars.' I expect the lodger feels like Mrs. Crowley - I've often told you about her, Ellen?"
Mrs. Bunting nodded.
Mrs. Crowley had been one of Bunting's ladies, one of those he had liked best - a cheerful, jolly lady, who used often to give her servants what she called a treat. It was seldom the kind of treat they would have chosen for themselves, but still they appreciated her kind thought.
"Mrs. Crowley used to say," went on Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way, "that she never minded how bad the weather was in London, so long as it was London and not the country. Mr. Crowley, he liked the country best, but Mrs. Crowley always felt dull-like there. Fog never kept her from going out - no, that it didn't. She wasn't a bit afraid. But - " he turned round and looked at his wife - " I am a bit surprised at Mr. Sleuth. I should have thought him a timid kind of gentleman - "

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Robert Darzac opened his eyes, with a look that showed he had not understood a word of what Rouletabille had said to him. At that moment the conveyance arrived, driven by Frederic Larsan. Darzac and the gendarme entered it, Larsan remaining on the driver's seat. The prisoner was taken to Corbeilhat same evening Rouletabille and I left the Glandier. We were very glad to get away and there was nothing more to keep us there. I declared my intention to give up the whole matter. It had been too much for me. Rouletabille, with a friendly tap on my shoulder, confessed that he had nothing more to learn at the Glandier; he had learned there all it had to tell him. We reached Paris about eight o'clock, dined, and then, tired out, we separated, agreeing to meet the next morning at my rooms.
Rouletabille arrived next day at the hour agreed on. He was dressed in a suit of English tweed, with an ulster on his arm, and a valise in his hand. Evidently he had prepared himself for a journey.
"How long shall you be away?" I asked.
"A month or two," he said. "It all depends."
I asked him no more questions.

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¡¡¡¡`I think I've had the pleasure of seeing you before; you live near us, don't you?' ¡¡¡¡`Next door'; and he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo's prim manner was rather funny, when he remembered how they had chatted about cricket when he brought the cat home. ¡¡¡¡That put Jo at her ease; and she laughed too, as she said, her heartiest way: ¡¡¡¡`We did have such a good time over your nice Christmas present.' ¡¡¡¡`Grandpa sent it.' ¡¡¡¡`But you put it into his head, didn't you, now?' ¡¡¡¡`How is your cat, Miss March?' asked the boy, trying to look sober, while his black eyes shone
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with fun. ¡¡¡¡`Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence; but I am not Miss March, I'm only Jo,' returned the young lady. ¡¡¡¡`I'm not Mr. Laurence, I'm only Laurie.' ¡¡¡¡`Laurie Laurence - what an odd name!' ¡¡¡¡ ¡¡¡¡`My first name is Theodore, but I don't like it, for the fellows called me Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead.' ¡¡¡¡`I hate my name, too - so sentimental! I wish everyone would say Jo, instead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?' ¡¡¡¡`I thrashed 'em.' ¡¡¡¡`I can't thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it'; and Jo resigned herself with a sigh.

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There was, of course, central heating, but it wasnot apparent. As there had always been, in the big central lounge, there were twomagnificent coal fires; beside them big brass coal scuttles shone in the way they used toshine when Edwardian housemaids polished them, and they were filled with exactly the rightsized lumps of coal. There was a general appearance of rich red velvet and plushycosiness. The armchairs were not of this time and age. They were well above the level ofthe floor, so that rheumatic old ladies had not to struggle in an undignified manner inorder to get to their feet. The seats of the chairs did not, as in so many modernhigh-priced armchairs, stop halfway between the high and the knee, thereby inflictingagony on those suffering from arthritis and sciatica; and they were not all of a pattern.There were straight backs and reclining backs, different widths to accommodate the slenderand the obese. People of almost any dimension could find a comfortable chair at Bertram's.
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　　Since it was now the tea hour, the lounge hall wasfull. Not that the lounge hall was the only place where you could have tea. There was adrawing-room (chintz), a smoking-room, (by some hidden influence reserved for gentlemenonly) where vast chairs were of fine leather, two writing-rooms, where you could take

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acrylic landscape painting She knows her own worth too well for false shame," replied Edward. "Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or other. If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I should not be shy." 　　 "But you would still be reserved," said Marianne, "and that is worse." 　　 Edward started- "Reserved! Am I reserved, Marianne?" 　　 "Yes, very." 　　 "I do not understand you," replied he, colouring. "Reserved!- how, in what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?" 　　 Elinor looked surprised at his emotion; but trying to laugh off the subject, she
oil paintingsaid to him, "Do not you know my sister well enough to understand what she means? Do not you know she calls every one reserved who does not talk as fast, and admire what she admires as rapturously as herself?" 　　 Edward made no answer. His gravity and thoughtfulness returned on him in their fullest extent- and he sat for some time silent and dull. 　　 　　CHAPTER XVIII　　 　　 ELINOR saw, with great uneasiness the low spirits of her friend. His visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was unhappy; she wished it were

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Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him. ¡¡¡¡"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, "but a simple idea--" ¡¡¡¡"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, "as the engineer assures us that we can pass." ¡¡¡¡"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would be more prudent--" ¡¡¡¡"What! Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to excite prodigiously. "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!" ¡¡¡¡"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural--" ¡¡¡¡"Who! What! What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several. ¡¡¡¡The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.
oil painting ¡¡¡¡"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor. ¡¡¡¡"I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be as American as they!" ¡¡¡¡"All aboard!" cried the conductor. "Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately. "But they can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!" ¡¡¡¡But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game. ¡¡¡¡The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to

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¡¡¡¡ ELIZABETH awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of any thing else, and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved soon after breakfast to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane which led her farther from the turnpike road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground. ¡¡¡¡After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the park; he was moving that way; and fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see her, and stepping

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¡¡¡¡"You have a visitor, you see," said Monsieur Defarge. ¡¡¡¡"What did you say?" ¡¡¡¡"Here is a visitor." ¡¡¡¡The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his work. ¡¡¡¡"Come!" said Defarge. "Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur." ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry took it in his hand. ¡¡¡¡Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker's name." ¡¡¡¡There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied: ¡¡¡¡"I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?" ¡¡¡¡"I said, couldn't you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur's information?" ¡¡¡¡"It is a lady's shoe. It is a young lady's walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand." He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride. ¡¡¡¡"And the maker's name?" said Defarge. ¡¡¡¡Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regular changes, without a moment's intermission. The task of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man. ¡¡¡¡"Did you ask me for my name?"

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¡¡¡¡ Mr Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne was all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell. ¡¡¡¡ "No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to know her." ¡¡¡¡ Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth's brother. He might have been in Mr Elliot's company, but she had not courage to ask the question. ¡¡¡¡ "The name of Anne Elliot," said he, "has long had an interesting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change." ¡¡¡¡ Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received their sound, than her attention was caught by other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking. ¡¡¡¡ "A well-looking man," said Sir Walter, "a very well-looking man." ¡¡¡¡ "A very fine young man indeed!" said Lady Dalrymple. "More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I dare say." ¡¡¡¡ "No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth; Captain Wentworth of the navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch."