At the moment when Belturbet arrived on the spot
several park-keepers were engaged in lifting the corpse into a punt.
Belturbet stooped to pick up a hat that lay near the scene of the
struggle. It was a smart soft felt hat, faintly reminiscent of Houbigant.
More than a month elapsed before Belturbet had sufficiently recovered
from his attack of nervous prostration to take an interest
once more in what was going on in the world of politics. The
Parliamentary Session was still in full swing, and a General Election
was looming in the near future. He called for a batch of morning
papers and skimmed rapidly through the speeches of the Chancellor,
Quinston, and other Ministerial leaders, as well as those of
the principal Opposition champions, and then sank back in his chair
with a sigh of relief. Evidently the spell had ceased to act after the
tragedy which had overtaken its invoker. There was no trace of
angel anywhere.
THE REMOULDING OF GROBY LINGTON
``A man is known by the company he keeps.``
In the morning-room of his sister-in-law's house Groby
Lington fidgeted away the passing minutes with the demure
restlessness of advanced middle age.
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