It is a vivid, splendid sketch full-length; a portraiture in full keeping with the idea of a super-criminal and his crimes. In all points except one it is sustained as to its faithfulness by the scattered fragments of description that have come down to us from others speaking independently. The disputed point is the color of his hair. Instead of the “fiery redness” that Hall has set down every other witness makes it black. The fact quite well agreed upon that Little Harpe’s hair was red, suggests that in this particular Hall’s memory confounded the two. In Governor Garrard’s proclamation offering a reward for their capture, Big Harpe is described as being “about six feet high, of robust make,” “built very straight,” “full fleshed in the face,” “ill-looking downcast countenance,” “his hair black and short but comes very much down his forehead.” Trabue says “the big man is pale, dark, swarthy, has bushy hair.” Breazeale says he was a “very large, brawny-limbed, big-boned man” and “of a most vicious, savage and ferocious countenance,” while Stewart [12F] reports him as “among the tallest class of men, say six feet two to six feet four inches” and with “sunken
So George Benthall and Gertrude Creswell were married at St. James's Church in Piccadilly, by the Reverend John Bontein, a High-Church rector of a Worcestershire parish, and an old college chum of the bridegroom's. A very quiet wedding, with Maude as the sole bridesmaid, and Joyce as best man, and Lady Caroline, and, oddly enough, Lord Hetherington, who had just come up to town from Westhope, and, calling at his sister's, had learned what was going to take place, and thought he should like to see it, don't you know? Had never been at any wedding except his own, and didn't recollect much about that, except that--curious thing, never should forget it--when he went into the vestry to sign his name, or something of that kind, saw surplice hanging up behind the door--thought it was ghost, or something of that kind--give you his word! So the little earl arrived the next morning at eleven at the church, and took his place in a pew near the altar, and propped his ear up with his hand to listen to the marriage service, at which he seemed to be much affected. When the ceremony was over, he joined the party in the vestry, insisted on bestowing a formal salute upon the bride--Lady Hetherington, he knew, was safely moored at Westhope--and, as some recompense for the infliction, he clasped on Gertrude's arm a very handsome bracelet, as his bridal gift. No bells, no bishop, no fashionable journal's chronicler, minutely noting down all that took place, and chronicling the names of "distinguished persons present." Pew-opener and beadle hearing "my lord" and "her ladyship" mentioned, seeing broughams, and cockades, and other signs of aristocracy with which they are familiar, are unable to reconcile the presence of these with absence of outward and visible signs in which great ones of this earth delight; and conclude either that it is a runaway match winked at by a portion only of the family, or some such low affair as the union of the tutor with the governess, kindly patronised by their employers. A happy wedding, though--happier far than most which are made up in that same temple--love-match founded on long knowledge of each other, not hurried, not forced, not mercenary; no question of love in a cottage either, and the flight of Amor through the window concurrently with the entrance of the wicked man of the drama--one Turpis Egestas--through the door.
Doc gave a short scornful laugh. "Krakatower! Don't pay any attention to him. A senile has-been, it's a scandal he's been allowed to play in this tournament! He must have pulled all sorts of strings. Told them that his lifelong services to chess had won him the honor and that they had to have a member of the so-called Old Guard. Maybe he even got down on his knees and cried—and all the time his eyes on that expense money and the last-place consolation prize! Yet dreaming schizophrenically of beating them all! Please, don't get me started on Dirty Old Krakatower."
They stumbled on up the slope that was steep and uneven, Trixie clinging to Guy, her breath coming fast and audible. "Do coo-ee," she urged him, "I feel I must know if they're there." He obeyed her. His voice rang clear through the trees and over the river, but echo was all the reply it received.
There was a lit-tle girl, that same au-tumn, whose home was on the shores of Lake E-rie. She had a por-trait of Lin-coln and a pic-ture of the log-cab-in
That evening Mrs. Greaves turned over the pages of a fashion paper in a corner of the club. It was previous to the days when "going to the club" had ceased to be a popular proceeding; it was not yet considered more civilised to go home with a few particular friends for the interval before dinner. The ladies' room was filled with groups of people refreshing themselves with tea after healthy exercise afoot or on horseback, or on the river, and the lofty building resounded with voices and laughter. The hot weather was within measurable distance, but the days were still pleasant, and the general exodus to the hills had not begun. The tennis courts in the public gardens were crowded every evening, the bandstand well surrounded, the Mall lively with riders and drivers;
??Young beggar!?? said Ames. ??But, anyhow, that was only by way of illustration. His idea was that we??d sort of put off marriage and all that sort of thing later and later. Twenty-eight. Thirty. Thirty-five even. And that put us wrong. We kind of curdled and fermented. Spoilt with keeping. Larked about with girls we didn??t care for. Demi-vierge stunts and all that. Got promiscuous. Let anything do. His idea was you??d got to pair off with a girl and look after her, and she look after you. And keep faith. And stop all stray mucking about. ??Settle down to a healthy sexual peace,?? he said.??
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