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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Stark Munro Letters"

Munro, sir;
and you may lay that there is no one there who wishes you
better than I do."
And yet there were many there who wished me well. My
patients had all got wind of it; and they assembled by
the pew-full, looking distressingly healthy. My
neighbour, Dr. Porter, was there also to lend me his
support, and old General Wainwright gave Winnie away. My
mother, Mrs. La Force, and Miss Williams were all in the
front pew; and away at the back of the church I caught a
glimpse of the forked beard and crinkly face of
Whitehall, and beside him the wounded lieutenant, the man
who ran away with the cook, and quite a line of the
strange Bohemians who followed his fortunes. Then when
the words were said, and man's form had tried to sanctify
that which was already divine, we walked amid the
pealings of the "Wedding March" into the vestry, where my
dear mother relieved the tension of the situation by
signing the register in the wrong place, so that to all
appearance it was she who had just married the clergyman.
And then amid congratulations and kindly faces, we
were together, her hand on my forearm, upon the steps of
the church, and saw the familiar road stretching before
us. But it was not that road which lay before my eyes,
but rather the path of our lives;--that broader path on
which our feet were now planted, so pleasant to tread,
and yet with its course so shrouded in the mist.


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