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Dowson, Ernest Christopher, 1867-1900

"With a memoir by Arthur Symons"

Sebastian, leaning against
the bed, watched him with absent intensity, which was yet alive to trivial
things, and he handed him from time to time a book, a brush, which the
other packed mechanically with elaborate care. There was no more to say,
and presently, when the chambermaid entered for his luggage, they went down
and out into the splendid sunshine, silently. They had to cross the Square
to reach the carriage, a dusty ancient vehicle, hooded, with places for
four, which waited outside the postoffice. A man in a blue blouse preceded
them, carrying Tregellan's things. From the corner they could look down
the road to Quimperle, and their eyes both sought the white house of
Doctor Mitouard, standing back a little in its trim garden, with its one
incongruous apple tree; but there was no one visible.
Presently, Sebastian asked, suddenly:
'Is it true, that you said last night: divorce to a Catholic--?'
Tregellan interrupted him.
'It is absolutely true, my poor friend.'
He had climbed into his place at the back, settled himself on the shiny
leather cushion: he appeared to be the only passenger. Sebastian stood
looking drearily in at the window, the glass of which had long perished.


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