1. Understanding Management 8th Edition Daft
Solutions Manual download pdf
https://testbankfan.com/product/understanding-management-8th-edition-
daft-solutions-manual/
Visit testbankfan.com to explore and download the complete
collection of test banks or solution manuals!
2. Here are some recommended products for you. Click the link to
download, or explore more at testbankfan.com
Understanding Management 8th Edition Daft Test Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/understanding-management-8th-edition-
daft-test-bank/
Understanding Management 9th Edition Daft Solutions Manual
https://testbankfan.com/product/understanding-management-9th-edition-
daft-solutions-manual/
Understanding Management 10th Edition Daft Solutions
Manual
https://testbankfan.com/product/understanding-management-10th-edition-
daft-solutions-manual/
Accounting Information Systems 9th Edition Hall Test Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/accounting-information-systems-9th-
edition-hall-test-bank/
3. Small Business Management in the 21st Edition Cadden Test
Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/small-business-management-in-the-21st-
edition-cadden-test-bank/
Microbiology An Introduction 13th Edition Tortora Test
Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/microbiology-an-introduction-13th-
edition-tortora-test-bank/
Behavior Modification Principles and Procedures 6th
Edition Miltenberger Test Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/behavior-modification-principles-and-
procedures-6th-edition-miltenberger-test-bank/
Perspectives on International Relations Power Institutions
and Ideas 5th Edition Nau Test Bank
https://testbankfan.com/product/perspectives-on-international-
relations-power-institutions-and-ideas-5th-edition-nau-test-bank/
Crafting and Executing Strategy Concepts and Cases 22nd
Edition Thompson Solutions Manual
https://testbankfan.com/product/crafting-and-executing-strategy-
concepts-and-cases-22nd-edition-thompson-solutions-manual/
36. young Tapworth was there all the time—that one with the pince-nez, and
the ridiculous chin—and he put them into the errand-boy’s basket, and told
him to be sharp about it. So I had no chance of seeing.”
“You might have strolled along behind the boy to see where he went,”
suggested Mr. Altham.
“He went on a bicycle,” said Mrs. Altham, “and it is impossible to stroll
behind a boy on a bicycle and hope to get there in time. But he went up the
High Street. I should not in the least wonder if Mrs. Evans had turned
Suffragette, after that note to me about her not having time to attend the
anti-Suffragette meetings.”
“Especially since there was only one,” said Henry, in the literal mood
that had been forced on him, “and nobody came to that. It would not have
sacrificed very much of her time. Not that I ever heard it was valuable.”
“What she can do with her day I can’t imagine,” said Mrs. Altham, her
mind completely diverted by this new topic. “Her cook told Griffiths that as
often as not she doesn’t go down to the kitchen at all in the morning, and
she’s hardly ever to be seen shopping in the High Street before lunch, and
what with Elsie gone to Dresden, and her husband away on his rounds all
day, she must be glad when it’s bedtime. And she’s a small sleeper, too, for
she told me herself that she considers six hours a good night, though I
expect she sleeps more than she knows, and I daresay has a nap after lunch
as well. Dear me, what were we talking about? Ah, yes, I was saying I
should not wonder if she had turned Suffragette, though I can’t recall what
made me think so.”
“Because Tapworth’s boy went up the High Street on a bicycle,” said Mr.
Altham, who had a great gift of picking out single threads from the tangle
of his wife’s conversation; “though, after all, the High Street leads to other
houses besides Mrs. Evans’. The station, for instance.”
“You seem to want to find fault with everything I say, to-night, Henry. I
don’t know what makes you so contrary. But there it is: I saw eighteen
yards of Suffragette riband being sent out when I happened to be in
Tapworth’s this morning, and I daresay that’s but a tithe of what has been
ordered, though I can’t say as to that, unless you expect me to stand in the
High Street all day and watch. And as to what it all means, I’ll let you
conjecture for yourself, since if I told you what I thought, you would
probably contradict me again.”
37. It was no wonder that Mrs. Altham was annoyed. She had been thrilled
to the marrow by the parcels of Suffragette riband, and when she
communicated her discovery, Henry, who usually was so sympathetic, had
seen nothing to be thrilled about. But he had not meant to be unsympathetic,
and repaired his error.
“I’m sure, my dear, that you will have formed a very good guess as to
what it means,” he said. “Tell me what you think.”
“Well, if you care to know,” said she, “I think it all points to there being
some demonstration planned, and I for one should not be surprised if I
looked out of the window some morning, and saw Mrs. Ames and Mrs.
Brooks and the rest of them marching down the High Street with ribands
and banners. They’ve been keeping very quiet about it all, at least not a
word of what they’ve been doing has come to my ears, and I consider that’s
a proof that something is going on and that they want to keep it secret.”
Mr. Altham’s legal mind cried out to him to put in the plea that a
complete absence of news does not necessarily constitute a proof that
exciting events are occurring, but he rightly considered that such logic
might be taken to be a sign of continued “contrariness.” So he gave an
illogical assent to his wife’s theory.
“Certainly it is odd that nothing more has been heard of it all,” he said.
“I wonder what they are planning. The election coming on so soon, too!
Can they be planning anything in connection with that?”
Mrs. Altham got up, letting her napkin fall on the floor.
“Henry, I believe you have hit it,” she said. “Now what can it be? Let us
go into the drawing-room, and thresh it out.”
But the best threshing-machines in the world cannot successfully fulfil
their function unless there is some material to work upon; they can but
show by their whirling wheels and rattling gear that they are capable of
threshing should anything be provided for them. The poor Althams were
somewhat in this position, for their rations of gossip were sadly reduced,
their two chief sources being cut off from them. For ever since the
mendacious Mrs. Brooks had appeared as Cleopatra, when she had as good
as promised to be Hermione, chill politeness had taken the place of
intimacy between the two houses, since there was no telling what trick she
might not play next, while the very decided line which Mrs. Altham had
taken when she found she was expected to meet people like tradesmen’s
38. wives had caused a complete rupture in relations with the Ames’. That
Suffragette meetings were going on was certain, else what sane mind could
account for the fact that only to-day a perfect stream of people, some of
them not even known by sight to Mrs. Altham, and therefore probably of
the very lowest origin, with Mrs. Ames and the wife of the station-master
among them, had been seen coming out of Mr. Turner’s warehouse. It was
ridiculous “to tell me” that they had been all making purchases (nobody had
told her), and such a supposition was thoroughly negatived by the
subsequent discovery that the warehouse in question contained only a
quantity of chairs. All this, however, had been threshed out at tea-time, and
the fly-wheels buzzed emptily. Against the probability of an election-
demonstration was the fact that the Unionist member, to whom these
attentions would naturally be directed, was Mrs. Ames’ cousin, though
“cousin” was a vague word, and Mrs. Altham would not wonder if he was a
very distant sort of cousin indeed. Still, it would be worth while to get
tickets anyhow for the first of Sir James’ meetings, when the President of
the Board of Trade was going to speak, so as to be certain of a good place.
He was not Mrs. Ames’ cousin, so far as Mrs. Altham knew, though she did
not pretend to follow the ramifications of Mrs. Ames’ family.
The fly-wheels were allowed to run on in silence for some little while
after this meagre material had been thoroughly sifted, in case anything
further offered itself; then Mr. Altham proposed another topic.
“You were saying that you wondered how Mrs. Evans got through her
time,” he began.
But there was no need for him to say another word, not any opportunity.
Mrs. Altham stooped like a hawk on the quarry.
“You mean Major Ames,” she said. “I’m sure I never pass the house but
what he’s either going in or coming out, and he does a good deal more of
the going in than of the other, in my opinion.”
Henry penetrated into the meaning of what sounded a rather curious
achievement and corroborated.
“He was there this morning,” he said, “on the doorstep at eleven o’clock,
or it might have been a quarter-past, with a bouquet of chrysanthemums big
enough to do all Mrs. Ames’ decorations at St. Barnabas. What is the
matter, my dear?”
39. For Mrs. Altham had literally bounced out of her chair, and was pointing
at him a forefinger that trembled with a nameless emotion.
“At a quarter-past one, or a few minutes later,” she said, “that bouquet
was lying in the middle of the road. Let us say twenty minutes past one,
because I came straight home, took off my hat, and was ready for lunch. It
was more like a haystack than a bouquet: I’m sure if I hadn’t stepped over
it, I should have tripped and fallen. And to think that I never mentioned it to
you, Henry! How things piece themselves together, if you give them a
chance! Now did you actually see Major Ames carry it into the house?”
“The door was opened to him, just as I came opposite,” said Henry
firmly, “and in he went, bouquet and all.”
“Then somebody must have thrown it out again,” said Mrs. Altham.
She held up one hand, and ticked off names on its fingers.
“Who was then in the house?” she said. “Mrs. Evans, Dr. Evans, Major
Ames. Otherwise the servants—how they can find work for six servants in
that house I can’t understand—and servants would never have thrown
chrysanthemums into the street. So we needn’t count the servants. Now can
you imagine Mrs. Evans throwing away a bouquet that Major Ames had
brought her? If so, I envy you your power of imagination. Or——”
She paused a moment.
“Or can there have been a quarrel, and did she tell him she had too much
of him and his bouquets? Or——”
“Dr. Evans,” said Henry.
She nodded portentously.
“Turned out of the house, he and his bouquet,” she said. “Dr. Evans is a
powerful man, and Major Ames, for all his size, is mostly fat. I should not
wonder if Dr. Evans knocked him down. Henry, I have a good mind to treat
Mrs. Ames as if she had not been so insulting to me that day (and after all
that is only Christian conduct) and to take round to her after lunch to-
morrow the book she said she wanted to see last July. I am sure I have
forgotten what it was, but any book will do, since she only wants it to be
thought that she reads. After all, I should be sorry to let Mrs. Ames suppose
that anything she can do should have the power of putting me out, and I
should like to see if she still dyes her hair. After the chrysanthemums in the
road I should not be the least surprised to be told that Major Ames is ill.
40. Then we shall know all. Dear me, it is eleven o’clock already, and I never
felt less inclined to sleep.”
Henry stepped downstairs to drink a mild whisky and soda after all this
conversation and excitement, but while it was still half drunk, he felt
compelled to run upstairs and tap at his wife’s door.
“I am not coming in, dear,” he said, in answer to her impassioned
negative. “But if you find Major Ames is not ill?”
“No one will be more rejoiced than myself, Henry,” said she, in a
disappointed voice.
Henry went gently downstairs again.
Mrs. Ames was at home when the forgiving Mrs. Altham arrived on the
following afternoon, bearing a copy of a book of which there were already
two examples in the house. But she clearly remembered having wanted to
see some book of which they had spoken together, last July, and it was very
kind of Mrs. Altham to have attempted to supply her with it. Beyond doubt
she had ceased to dye her hair, for the usual grey streaks were apparent in it,
a proof (if Mrs. Altham wanted a proof, which she did not) that artificial
means had been resorted to. And even as Mrs. Altham, with her powerful
observation, noticed the difference in Mrs. Ames’ hair, so also she noticed a
difference in Mrs. Ames. She no longer seemed pompous: there was a
kindliness about her which was utterly unlike her usual condescension,
though it manifested itself only in the trivial happenings of an afternoon
call, such as putting a cushion in her chair, and asking if she found the
room, with its prospering fire, too hot. This also led to interesting
information.
“It is scarcely cold enough for a fire to-day,” she said, “but my husband
is laid up with a little attack of lumbago.”
“I am so sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Altham feverishly. “When did he
catch it?”
“He felt it first last night before dinner. It is disappointing, for he
expected Harrogate to cure him of such tendencies. But it is not very
severe: I have no doubt he will be in here presently for tea.”
Mrs. Altham felt quite convinced he would not, and hastened to glean
further enlightenment.
41. “You must be very busy thinking of the election,” she said. “I suppose
Sir James is safe to get in. I got tickets for the first of his meetings this
morning.”
“That will be the one at which the President of the Board of Trade
speaks,” said Mrs. Ames. “My cousin and he dine with us first.”
Mrs. Altham determined on more direct questions.
“Really, it must require courage to be a politician nowadays,” she said,
“especially if you are in the Cabinet. Mr. Chilcot has been hardly able to
open his mouth lately without being interrupted by some Suffragette. Dear
me, I hope I have not said the wrong thing! I quite forgot your sympathies.”
“It is certainly a subject that interests me,” said Mrs. Ames, “though as
for saying the wrong thing, dear Mrs. Altham, why, the world would be a
very dull place if we all agreed with each other. But I think it requires just
as much courage for a woman to get up at a meeting and interrupt. I cannot
imagine myself being bold enough. I feel I should be unable to get on my
feet, or utter a word. They must be very much in earnest, and have a great
deal of conviction to nerve them.”
This was not very satisfactory; if anything was to be learned from it, it
was that Mrs. Ames was but a tepid supporter of the cause. But what
followed was still more vexing, for the parlour-maid announced Mrs.
Evans.
“So sorry to hear about Major Ames, dear cousin Amy,” she said.
“Wilfred told me he had been to see him.”
Mrs. Ames made a kissing-pad, so to speak, of her small toad’s face, and
Millie dabbed her cheek on it.
“Dear Millie, how nice of you to call! Parker, tell the Major that tea is
ready and that Mrs. Evans and Mrs. Altham are here.”
But by the time Major Ames arrived Mrs. Altham was there no longer.
She was thoroughly disgusted with the transformation into chaff of all the
beautiful grain that they had taken the trouble to thresh out the night before.
She summed it up succinctly to her husband when he came back from his
golf.
“I don’t believe the Suffragettes are going to do anything at all, Henry,”
she said, “and I shouldn’t wonder if these chrysanthemums had nothing to
do with anybody. The only thing is that her hair is dyed, because it was all
42. speckled with grey again as thickly as yours, and I declare I left The Safety
of the Race behind me, instead of bringing it back again, as I meant to do.”
Henry, who had won his match at golf, was naturally optimistic.
“Then you didn’t actually see Major Ames?” he asked.
“No, but there was no longer any doubt about it all,” she said. “I do not
think I am unduly credulous, but it was clear there was nothing the matter
with him except a touch of lumbago. And all this Suffragette business
means nothing at all, in spite of the yards of riband. You may take my word
for it.”
“Then there will be no point in going to Sir James’ meeting,” said Henry,
“though the President of the Board of Trade is going to speak.”
“Not unless you want to hear the biggest windbag in the country
buttering up the greatest prig in the county. I should be sorry to waste my
time over it; and he is dining with the Ames’, and so I suppose all there will
be to look at will be the row of them on the platform, all swollen with one
of Mrs. Ames’ biggest dinners. We might have gone to bed at our usual time
last night, for all the use that there has been in our talk. And it was you saw
the chrysanthemums, from which you expected so much and thought it
worth while to tell me about them.”
And Henry felt too much depressed at the utter flatness of all that had
made so fair a promise, to enter any protest against the palpable injustice of
these conclusions.
Major Ames’ lumbago was of the Laodicean sort, neither hot nor cold. It
hung about, occasionally stabbing him shrewdly, at times retreating in the
Parthian mode, so that he was encouraged to drink a glass of port, upon
which it shot at him again, and he had to get back to his stew of sloppy diet
and depressing reflections. Most of all, the relations into which he had
allowed himself to drift with regard to Millie filled him with a timorous yet
exultant agitation, but he almost, if not quite, exaggerated his indisposition,
in order to escape from the responsibility of deciding what should come of
it. Damp and boisterous weather made it prudent for him to keep to the
house, and she came to see him daily. Behind her demure quietness he
divined a mind that was expectant and sure: there was no doubt as to her
view of the situation that had arisen between them. She had played with the
emotions of others once too often, and was caught in the agitation which
43. she had so often excited without sharing in it. Mrs. Ames was generally
present at these visits, but when it was quite certain that she was not
looking, Millie often raised her eyes to his, and this disconcerting
conviction lurked behind them. Her speech was equally disconcerting, for
she would say, “It will be nice when you are well again,” in a manner that
quite belied the commonplace words. And this force that lay behind
strangely controlled him. Involuntarily, almost, he answered her signals,
gave himself the lover-like privilege of seeming to understand all that was
not said. All the time, too, he perfectly appreciated the bad taste of the affair
—namely, that a woman who was in love with him, and to whom he had
given indications of the most unmistakable kind that he was on her plane of
emotion, should play these unacted scenes in his wife’s house, coming there
to make pass his invalid hours, and that he should take his part in them. It
was common, and he could not but contrast that commonness with the
unconsciousness of his wife. Occasionally he was inclined to think, “Poor
Amy, how little she sees,” but as often it occurred to him that she was too
big to be aware of such smallnesses as he and Milly were guilty of. And, in
reality, the truth lay between these extreme views. She was not too big to be
aware of it; she was quite aware of it, but she was big enough to appear too
big to be aware of it. She watched, and scorned herself for her watching.
She fed herself with suspicions, but was robust enough to spew them forth
again. Also, and this allowed the robuster attitude to flourish, she was
concerned with a nightmare of her own which daily grew more vivid and
unescapable.
A decade of streaming October days passed in this trying atmosphere of
suspicion and uncertainty and apprehension. Of the three of them it was
Major Ames who was most thoroughly ill at ease, for he had no inspiration
which enabled him to bear this sordid martyrdom. He divined that Millie
was evolving some situation in which he would be expected to play a very
prominent part, and such ardour as was his he felt not to be of the adequate
temperature, and he looked back over the peaceful days when his garden
supplied him not only with flowers, but with the most poignant emotions
known to his nature, almost with regret. It had all been so peaceful and
pleasant in that land-locked harbour, and now she, like a steam-tug, was
slowly towing him out past the pier-head into a waste of breakers. Strictly
speaking, it was possible for him at any moment to cast the towing-rope off
and return to his quiet anchorage, but he was afraid he lacked the moral
44. power to do so. He had let her throw the rope aboard him, he had helped to
attach it to the bollard, thinking, so to speak, that he was the tug and she the
frail little craft. But that frail little craft had developed into an engined
apparatus, and it was his turn to be towed, helpless and at least unwilling,
and wholly uninspired. The others, at any rate, had inspiration to warm their
discomfort: Mrs. Ames the sense of justice and sisterhood which was
leavening her dumpy existence, Mrs. Evans the fire which, however strange
and illicit are its burnings, however common and trivial the material from
which it springs, must still be called love.
It was the evening of Sir James’ first meeting, and Mrs. Ames at six
o’clock was satisfying herself that nothing had been omitted in the
preparations for dinner. The printed menu cards were in place, announcing
all that was most sumptuous; the requisite relays of knives, spoons and
forks were on the sideboard; the plates of opalescent glass for ice were to
hand, and there was no longer anything connected with this terrible feast,
that to her had the horror of a murderer’s breakfast on the last morning of
his life, which could serve to distract her mind any more. Millie was to dine
with them and with them come to the meeting, but just now it did not seem
to matter in the slightest what Millie did. All day Mrs. Ames had been
catching at problematic straws that might save her: it was possible that Mr.
Chilcot would be seized with sudden indisposition, and the meeting be
postponed. But she herself had seen him drive by in Cousin James’ motor,
looking particularly hearty. Or Cousin James might catch influenza: Lady
Westbourne already had it, and it was pleasantly infectious. Or Lyndhurst
might get an attack of really acute lumbago, but instead he felt absolutely
well again to-day, and had even done a little garden-rolling. One by one
these bright possibilities had been extinguished—now no reasonable anchor
remained except that dinner would acutely disagree with her (and that was
hardly likely, since she felt incapable of eating anything) or that the motor
which was to take them to the town hall would break down.
At half-past six she went upstairs to dress; she would thus secure a
quarter of an hour before the actual operation of decking herself began, in
which to be alone and really face what was going to happen. It was no use
trying to face it in one piece: taken all together the coming evening had the
horror and unreality of nightmare brooding over it. She had to take it
moment by moment from the time when she would welcome her guests,
45. whom, so it seemed to her, she was then going to betray, till the time when,
perhaps four hours from now, she would be back again here in her room,
and everything that had happened had woven itself into the woolly texture
of the past, in place of being in the steely, imminent future. There was
dinner to be gone through; that was only tolerable to think of because of
what was to follow: in itself it would please her to entertain her cousin and
so notable a man as a Cabinet Minister. Clearly, then, she must separate
dinner from the rest, and enjoy it independently. But when she went down
to dinner she must have left here in readiness the little black velvet bag ...
that was not so pleasant to think of. Yet the little black velvet bag had
nothing to do yet. Then there would follow the drive to the town hall: that
would not be unpleasant: in itself she would rather enjoy the stir and pomp
of their arrival. Sir James would doubtless say to the scrutinizing
doorkeeper, “These ladies are with me,” and they would pass on amid
demonstrations of deference. Probably there would be a little procession on
to the platform ... the Mayor would very likely lead the way with her, her
and her little black velvet bag....
And then poor Mrs. Ames suddenly felt that if she thought about it any
more she would have a nervous collapse. And at that thought her
inspiration, so to speak, reached out a cool, firm hand to her. At any cost she
was going through with this nightmare for the sake of that which inspired it.
It was no use saying it was pleasant, nor was it pleasant to have a tooth out.
But any woman with the slightest self-respect, when once convinced that it
was better to have the tooth out, went to the dentist at the appointed hour,
declined gas (Mrs. Ames had very decided opinions about those who made
a fuss over a little pain), opened her mouth, and held the arms of the chair
very firmly. One wanted something to hold on to at these moments. She
wondered what she would find to hold on to this evening. Perhaps the
holding on would be done by somebody else—a policeman, for instance.
There was one more detail to attend to before dressing, and she opened
the little black velvet bag. In it were two chains—light, but of steel: they
had been sold her with the gratifying recommendation that either of them
alone would hold a mastiff, which was more than was required. One was of
such length as to go tightly round her waist: a spring lock with hasp passing
through the last link of it, closing with an internal snap, obviated the
necessity of a key. This she proposed to put on below the light cloak she
46. wore before they started. The second chain was rather longer but otherwise
similar. It was to be passed through the one already in place on her waist,
and round the object to which she desired to attach herself. Another snap
lock made the necessary connection.
She saw that all was in order and, putting the big Suffragette rosette on
top of the other apparatus, closed the bag: it was useless to try to accustom
herself to it by looking; she might as well inspect the dentist’s forceps,
hoping thus to mollify their grip. Cloak and little velvet bag she would
leave here and come up for them after dinner. And already the quarter of an
hour was over, and it was time to dress.
The daring rose-coloured silk was to be worn on this occasion, and she
hoped that it would not experience any rough treatment. Yet it hardly
mattered: after to-night she would very likely never care to set eyes on it
again, and emphatically Lyndhurst would find it full of disagreeable
associations. And then she felt suddenly and acutely sorry for him and for
the amazement and chagrin that he was about to feel. He could not fail to be
burningly ashamed of her, to choke with rage and mortification. Perhaps it
would bring on another attack of lumbago, which she would intensely
regret. But she did not anticipate feeling in the least degree ashamed of
herself. But she intensely wished it had not got to be.
And now she was ready: the rose-coloured silk glowed softly in the
electric light, the pink satin shoes which “went with it” were on her plump,
pretty little feet, the row of garnets was clasped round her neck. There was a
good deal of colour in her face, and she was pleased to see she looked so
well. The last time she had worn all these fine feathers was on the evening
she returned home with brown hair and softened wrinkles from Overstrand.
That was not a successful evening: it seemed that the rose-coloured silk was
destined to shine on inauspicious scenes. But now she was ready: this was
her last moment alone. And she plumped down on her knees by the bedside,
in a sudden access of despair at what lay before her, and found her lips
involuntarily repeating the words that were used in the hugest and most
holy agony that man’s spirit has ever known, when for one moment He felt
that even He could not face the sacrifice of Himself or to drink of the cup.
But next moment she sprang from her knees again, her face all aflame with
the shame at her paltriness. “You wretched little coward!” she said to
herself. “How dare you?”
47. Dinner, that long expensive dinner, brought with it trouble unanticipated
by Mrs. Ames. Mr. Chilcot, it appeared, was a teetotaler at all times, and
never ate anything but a couple of poached eggs before he made a speech.
He was also, owing to recent experiences, a little nervous about
Suffragettes, and required reiterated assurances that unaccountable females
had not been seen about.
“It’s true that a week or two ago I received a letter asking me my views,”
said Sir James, “but I wrote a fairly curt reply, and have heard nothing more
about it. My agent’s pretty wide awake. He would have known if there was
likely to be any disturbance. No thanks, Major, one glass of champagne is
all I allow myself before making a speech. Capital wine, I know; I always
say you give one the best glass of wine to be had in Kent. How’s time, by
the way? Ah, we’ve got plenty of time yet.”
“I like to have five minutes’ quiet before going on to the platform,” said
Mr. Chilcot.
“Yes, that will be all right. Perhaps we might have the motor five
minutes earlier, Cousin Amy. No, no sweetbread thanks. Dear me, what a
great dinner you are giving us.”
An awful and dismal atmosphere descended. Mr. Chilcot, thinking of his
speech, frowned at his poached eggs, and, when they were finished, at the
table-cloth. Cousin James refused dish after dish, Mrs. Ames felt herself
incapable of eating, and Major Ames and Mrs. Evans, who was practically a
vegetarian, were left to do the carousing. Wines went round untouched,
silences grew longer, and an interminable succession of dishes failed to
tempt anybody except Major Ames. At this rate, not one, but a whole series
of luncheon-parties would be necessary to finish up the untouched dainties
of this ill-starred dinner. Outside, a brisk tattoo of rain beat on the windows,
and the wind having got up, the fire began to smoke, and Mr. Chilcot to
cough. A readjustment of door and window mended this matter, but sluiced
Cousin James in a chilly draught. Mr. Chilcot brightened up a little as
coffee came round, but the coffee was the only weak spot in an admirable
repast, being but moderately warm. He put it down. Mrs. Ames tried to
repair this error.
“I’m afraid it is not hot enough,” she said. “Parker, tell them to heat it up
at once.”
Cousin James looked at his watch.
48. “Really, I think we ought to be off,” he said. “I’m sure they can get a cup
of coffee for Mr. Chilcot from the hotel. We might all go together unless
you have ordered something, Cousin Amy. The motor holds five easily.”
A smart, chill October rain was falling, and they drove through blurred
and disconsolate streets. A few figures under umbrellas went swiftly along
the cheerless pavements, a crowd of the very smallest dimensions, scarce
two deep across the pavement opposite the town hall, watched the arrival of
those who were attending the meeting. There was an insignificant queue of
half-a-dozen carriages awaiting their disembarkments, but as the hands of
the town hall clock indicated that the meeting was not timed to begin for
twenty minutes yet, even Mr. Chilcot could not get agitated about the
possibility of a cup of coffee before his effort. Through the rain-streaked
windows Mrs. Ames could see how meagre, owing no doubt to the
inclement night, was the assembly of the ticket-holders. It was possible, of
course, that crowds might soon begin to arrive, but Riseborough generally
made a point of being in its place in plenty of time, and she anticipated a
sparsely attended room. Mrs. Brooks hurried by in mackintosh and
goloshes, the cheerful Turner family, who were just behind them in a cab,
dived into the wet night, and emerged again under the awning. Mrs. Currie
(wife of the station-master), with her Suffragette rosette in a paper parcel,
had a friendly word with a policeman at the door, and at these sights, since
they indicated a forcible assemblage of the league, she felt a little
encouraged. Then the car moved on and stopped again opposite the awning,
and their party dismounted.
A bustling official demanded their tickets, and was summarily thrust
aside by another, just as bustling but more enlightened, who had recognized
Sir James, and conducted them all to the Mayor’s parlour, where that
dignitary received them. There was coffee already provided, and all anxiety
on that score was removed. Mr. Chilcot effaced himself in a corner with his
cup and his notes, while the others, notably Sir James, behaved with that
mixture of social condescension and official deference which appears to be
the right attitude in dealing with mayors. Then the Mayoress said, “George,
dear, it has gone the half-hour; will you escort Mrs. Ames?”
George asked Mrs. Ames if he might have the honour, and observed—
49. “We shall have but a thin meeting, I am afraid. Most inclement for
October.”
Mrs. Ames pulled her cloak a little closer round her, in order to hide a
chain that was more significant than the Mayor’s, and felt the little black
velvet bag beating time to her steps against her knee.
They walked through the stark bare passages, with stone floors that
exuded cold moisture in sympathy with the wetness of the evening, and
came out into a sudden blaze of light.
A faint applause from nearly empty benches heralded their appearance,
and they disposed themselves on a row of plush arm-chairs behind a long
oak table. The Mayor sat in the centre, to right and left of him Sir James and
Mr. Chilcot. Just opposite Mrs. Ames was a large table-leg, which had for
her the significance of the execution-shed.
She put her bag conveniently on her knees, and quietly unloosed the
latch that fastened it. There were no more preparations to be made just yet,
since the chain was quite ready, and in a curious irresponsible calm she took
further note of her surroundings. Scarcely a hundred people were there, all
told, and face after face, as she passed her eyes down the seats, was friendly
and familiar. Mrs. Currie bowed, and the Turner family, in a state of the
pleasantest excitement, beamed; Mrs. Brooks gave her an excited hand-
wave. They were all sitting in encouraging vicinity to each other, but she
was alone, as on the inexorable seas, while they were on the pier.... Then the
Mayor cleared his throat.
It had been arranged that the Mayor was to be given an uninterrupted
hearing, for he was the local grocer, and it had, perhaps, been tacitly felt
that he might adopt retaliatory measures in the inferior quality of the
subsequent supplies of sugar. He involved himself in sentences that had no
end, and would probably have gone on for ever, had he not, with
commendable valour, chopped off their tails when their coils threatened to
strangle him, and begun again. The point of it all was that they had the
honour to welcome the President of the Board of Trade and Sir James
Westbourne. Luckily, the posters, with which the town had been placarded
for the last fortnight, corroborated the information, and no reasonable
person could any longer doubt it.
50. He was rejoiced to see so crowded an assembly met together—this was
not very happy, but the sentence had been carefully thought out, and it was
a pity not to reproduce it—and was convinced that they would all spend a
most interesting and enjoyable evening, which would certainly prove to be
epoch-making. Politics were taken seriously in Riseborough, and it was
pleasant to see the gathering graced by so many members of the fair sex. He
felt he had detained them all quite long enough (no) and he would detain
them no longer (yes), but call on the Right Honourable Mr. Chilcot (cheers).
As Mr. Chilcot rose, Mr. Turner rose also, and said in a clear, cheerful
voice, “Votes for Women.” He had a rosette, pinned a little crookedly,
depending from his shoulder. Immediately his wife and daughter rose too,
and in a sort of Gregorian chant said, “Women’s rights,” and a rattle of
chains made a pleasant light accompaniment. From beneath her seat Mrs.
Currie produced a banner trimmed with the appropriate colours, on which
was embroidered “Votes for Women.” But the folds clung dispiritingly
together: there was never a more dejected banner. Two stalwart porters
whom she had brought with her also got up, wiped their mouths with the
backs of their hands, and said in low, hoarse tones, “Votes for Women.”
This lasted but a few seconds, and there was silence again. It was
impossible to imagine a less impressive demonstration: it seemed the
incarnation of ineffectiveness. Mr. Chilcot had instantly sat down when it
began, and, though he had cause to be shy of Suffragettes, seemed quite
undisturbed; he was smiling good-naturedly, and for a moment consulted
his notes again. And then, suddenly, Mrs. Ames realized that she had taken
no share in it; it had begun so quickly, and so quickly ended, that for the
time she had merely watched. But then her blood and her courage came
back to her: it should not be her fault, in any case, if the proceedings lacked
fire. The Idea, all that had meant so much to her during these last months,
seemed to stand by her, asking her aid. She opened the little black velvet
bag, pinned on her rosette, passed the second chain (strong enough to hold a
mastiff) through the first, and round the leg of the table in front of her,
heard the spring lock click, and rose to her feet, waving her hand.
“Votes for Women!” she cried. “Votes for Women. Hurrah!”
Instantly every one on the platform turned to her: she saw Lyndhurst’s
inflamed and astonished face, with mouth fallen open in incredulous
surprise, like a fish in an aquarium: she saw Cousin James’ frown of
51. distinguished horror. Mrs. Evans looked as if about to laugh, and the
Mayoress said, “Lor’!” Mr. Chilcot turned round in his seat, and his good-
humored smile faded, leaving an angry fighting face. But all this hostility
and amazement, so far from cowing or silencing her, seemed like a draught
of wine. “Votes for Women!” she cried again.
At that the cry was taken up in earnest: by a desperate effort Mrs. Currie
unfurled her banner, so that it floated free, her porters roared out their
message with the conviction they put into their announcements to a
stopping train that this was Riseborough, the Turner family gleefully
shouted together: Mrs. Brooks, unable to adjust her rosette, madly waved it,
and a solid group of enthusiasts just below the platform emitted loud and
militant cries. All that had been flat and lifeless a moment before was
inspired and vital. And Mrs. Ames had done it. For a moment she had
nothing but glory in her heart.
Mr. Chilcot leaned over the table to her.
“I had no idea,” he said, “when I had the honour of dining with you that
you proposed immediately afterwards to treat me with such gross
discourtesy.”
“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again.
This time the cry was less vehemently taken up, for there was nothing to
interrupt. Mr. Chilcot conferred a moment quietly with Sir James, and Mrs.
Ames saw that Lyndhurst and Mrs. Evans were talking together: the former
was spluttering with rage, and Mrs. Evans had laid her slim, white-gloved
hand on his knee, in the attempt, it appeared, to soothe him. At present the
endeavour did not seem to be meeting with any notable measure of success.
Even in the midst of her excitement, Mrs. Ames thought how ludicrous
Lyndhurst’s face was; she also felt sorry for him. As well, she had the sense
of this being tremendous fun: never in her life had she been so effective,
never had she even for a moment paralysed the plans of other people. But
she was doing that now; Mr. Chilcot had come here to speak, and she was
not permitting him to. And again she cried “Votes for Women!”
An inspector of police had come on to the platform, and after a few
words with Sir James, he vaulted down into the body of the hall. Next
moment, some dozen policemen tramped in from outside, and immediately
afterwards the Turner family, still beaming, were being trundled down the
gangway, and firmly ejected. Sundry high notes and muffled shoutings
52. came from outside, but after a few seconds they were dumb, as if a tap had
been turned off. There was a little more trouble with Mrs. Currie, but a few
smart tugs brought away the somewhat flimsy wooden rail to which she had
attached herself, and she was taken along in a sort of tripping step, like a
cheerful dancing bear, with her chains jingling round her, after the Turners,
and quietly put out into the night. Then Sir James came across to Mrs.
Ames.
“Cousin Amy,” he said, “you must please give us your word to cause no
more disturbance, or I shall tell a couple of men to take you away.”
“Votes for Women!” shouted Mrs. Ames again. But the excitement
which possessed her was rapidly dying, and from the hall there came no
response except very audible laughter.
“I am very sorry,” said Cousin James.
And then with a sudden overwhelming wave, the futility of the whole
thing struck her. What had she done? She had merely been extremely rude
to her two guests, had seriously annoyed her husband, and had aroused
perfectly justifiable laughter. General Fortescue was sitting a few rows off:
he was looking at her through his pince-nez, and his red, good-humoured
face was all a-chink with smiles. Then two policemen, one of whom had his
beat in St. Barnabas Road, vaulted up on to the platform, and several people
left their places to look on from a more advantageous position.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the St. Barnabas policeman, touching
his helmet with imperturbable politeness. “She’s chained up too, Bill.”
Bill was a slow, large, fatherly-looking man, and examined Mrs. Ames’
fetters. Then a broad grin broke out over his amiable face.
“It’s only just passed around the table-leg,” he said. “Hitch up the table-
leg, mate, and slip it off.”
It was too true ... patent lock and mastiff-holding chain were slipped
down the table-leg, and Mrs. Ames, with the fatherly-looking policeman
politely carrying her chains and the little velvet bag, was gently and
inevitably propelled through the door which, a quarter of an hour ago, she
had entered escorted by the Mayor, and down the stone passage and out into
the dripping street. The rain fell heavily on to the rose-coloured silk dress,
and the fatherly policeman put her cloak, which had half fallen off, more
shelteringly round her.
53. “Better have a cab, ma’am, and go home quietly,” he said. “You’ll catch
cold if you stay here, and we can’t let you in again, begging your pardon,
ma’am.”
Mrs. Ames looked round: Mrs. Currie was just crossing the road,
apparently on her way home, and a carriage drove off containing the Turner
family. A sense of utter failure and futility possessed her: it was cold and
wet, and a chilly wind flapped the awning, blowing a shower of dripping
raindrops on to her. The excitement and courage that had possessed her just
now had all oozed away: nothing had been effected, unless to make herself
ridiculous could be counted as an achievement.
“Call a cab for the lady, Bill,” said her policeman soothingly.
This was soon summoned, and Bill touched his helmet as she got in, and
before closing the door pulled up the window for her. The cabman also
knew her, and there was no need to give him her address. The rain pattered
on the windows and on the roof, and the horse splashed briskly along
through the puddles in the roadway.
Parker opened the door to her, surprised at the speediness of her return.
“Why, ma’am!” she exclaimed, “has anything happened?”
“No, nothing, Parker,” said she, feeling that a dreadful truth underlay her
words. “Tell the Major, when he comes in, that I have gone to bed.”
She looked for a moment into the dining-room. So short a time had
passed that the table was not yet cleared: the printed menu-cards had been
collected, but the coffee, which had not been hot enough, still stood
untasted in the cups, and the slices of pineapple, cut, but not eaten, were
ruinously piled together. The thought of all the luncheons that would be
necessary to consume all this expensive food made her feel sick.... These
little things had assumed a ridiculous size to her mind; that which had
seemed so big was pitifully dwindled. She felt desperately tired, and cold
and lonely.
54. CHAPTER XII
“And what’s to be done now?” said Major Ames, chipping his bacon
high into the air above his plate. “If you didn’t hear me, I said, ‘What’s to
be done now?’ I don’t know how you can look Riseborough in the face
again, and, upon my word, I don’t see how I can. They’ll point at me in the
street, and say, ‘That’s Major Ames, whose wife made a fool of herself.’
That’s what you did, Amy. You made a fool of yourself. And what was the
good of it all? Are you any nearer getting the vote than before, because
you’ve screamed ‘Votes for Women’ a dozen times? You’ve only given a
proof the more of how utterly unfit you are to have anything at all of your
own, let alone a vote. I passed a sleepless night with thinking of your folly,
and I feel infernally unwell this morning.”
This clearly constituted a climax, and Mrs. Ames took advantage of the
rhetorical pause that followed.
“Nonsense, Lyndhurst,” she said; “I heard you snoring.”
“It’s enough to make a man snore,” he said. “Snore, indeed! Why
couldn’t you even have told me that you were going to behave like a silly
lunatic, and if I couldn’t have persuaded you to behave sanely, I could have
stopped away, instead of looking on at such an exhibition? Every one will
suppose I must have known about it, and have countenanced you. I’ve a
good mind to write to the Kent Chronicle and say that I was absolutely
ignorant of what you were going to do. You’ve disgraced us; that’s what
you’ve done.”
He took a gulp of tea, imprudently, for it was much hotter than he
anticipated.
“And now I’ve burned my mouth!” he said.
Mrs. Ames put down her napkin, left her seat, and came and stood by
him.
“I am sorry you are so much vexed,” she said, “but I can’t and I won’t
discuss anything with you if you talk like that. You are thinking about
nothing but yourself, whether you are disgraced, and whether you have had
a bad night.”
“Certainly you don’t seem to have thought about me,” he said.
55. “As a matter of fact I did,” she said. “I knew you would not like it, and I
was sorry. But do you suppose I liked it? But I thought most about the
reason for which I did it.”
“You did it for notoriety,” said Major Ames, with conviction. “You
wanted to see your name in the papers, as having interrupted a Cabinet
Minister’s speech. You won’t even have that satisfaction, I am glad to say.
Your cousin James, who is a decent sort of fellow after all, spoke to the
reporters last night and asked them to leave out all account of the
disturbance. They consented; they are decent fellows too; they didn’t want
to give publicity to your folly. They were sorry for you, Amy; and how do
you like half-a-dozen reporters at a pound a week being sorry for you? Your
cousin James was equally generous. He bore no malice to me, and shook
hands with me, and said he saw you were unwell when he sat down to
dinner. But when a man of the world, as your Cousin James is, says he
thinks that a woman is unwell, I know what he means. He thought you were
intoxicated. Drunk, in fact. That’s what he thought. He thought you were
drunk. My wife drunk. And it was the kindest interpretation he could have
put upon it. Mad or drunk. He chose drunk. And he hoped I should be able
to come over some day next week and help him to thin out the pheasants.
Very friendly, considering all that had happened.”
Mrs. Ames moved slightly away from him.
“Do you mean to go?” she asked.
“Of course I mean to go. He shows a very generous spirit, and I think I
can account for the highest of his rocketters. He wants to smoothe things
over and be generous, and all that—hold out the olive branch. He
recognizes that I’ve got to live down your folly, and if it’s known that I’ve
been shooting with him, it will help us. Forgive and forget, hey? I shall just
go over there, en garçon, and will patch matters up. I dare say he’ll ask you
over again some time. He doesn’t want to be hard on you. Nor do I, I am
sure. But there are things no man can stand. A man’s got to put his foot
down sometimes, even if he puts it down on his wife. And if I was a bit
rough with you just now, you must realize, Amy, you must realize that I felt
strongly, strongly and rightly. We’ve got to live down what you have done.
Well, I’m by you. We’ll live it down together. I’ll make your peace with
your cousin. You can trust me.”
56. These magnificent assurances failed to dazzle Mrs. Ames, and she made
no acknowledgement of them. Instead, she went back rather abruptly and
inconveniently to a previous topic.
“You tell me that Cousin James believed I was drunk,” she said. “Now
you knew I was not. But you seem to have let it pass.”
Major Ames felt that more magnanimous assurances might be in place.
“There are some things best passed over,” he said. “Let sleeping dogs lie.
I think the less we talk about last night the better. I hope I am generous
enough not to want to rub it in, Amy, not to make you more uncomfortable
than you are.”
Mrs. Ames sat down in a chair by the fireplace. A huge fire burned there,
altogether disproportionate to the day, and she screened her face from the
blaze with the morning paper. Also she made a mental note to speak to
Parker about it.
“You are making me very uncomfortable indeed, Lyndhurst,” she said;
“by not telling me what I ask you. Did you let it pass, when you saw James
thought I was drunk?”
“Yes; he didn’t say so in so many words. If he had said so, well, I dare
say I should have—have made some sort of answer. And, mind you, it was
no accusation he made against you; he made an excuse for you!”
Mrs. Ames’ small, insignificant face grew suddenly very firm and fixed.
“We do not need to go into that,” she said. “You saw he thought I was
drunk, and said nothing. And after that you mean to go over and shoot his
pheasants. Is that so?”
“Certainly it is. You are making a mountain out of——”
“I am making no mountain out of anything. Personally, I don’t believe
Cousin James thought anything of the kind. What matters is that you let it
pass. What matters is that I should have to tell you that you must apologize
to me, instead of your seeing it for yourself.”
Major Ames got up, pushing his chair violently back.
“Well, here’s a pretty state of things,” he cried; “that you should be
telling me to apologize for last night’s degrading exhibition! I wonder what
you’ll be asking next? A vote of thanks from the Mayor, I shouldn’t wonder,
and an illuminated address. You teaching me what I ought to do! I should
have thought a woman would have been only too glad to trust to her
57. husband, if he was so kind, as I have been, as to want to get her out of the
consequences of her folly. And now it’s you who must sit there, opposite a
fire fit to roast an ox, and tell me I must apologize. Apologies be damned!
There! It’s not my habit to swear, as you well know, but there are occasions
—— Apologies be damned!”
And a moment later the house shook with the thunder of the slammed
front door.
Mrs. Ames sat for a couple of minutes exactly where she was, still
shielding her face from the fire. She felt all the chilling effects of the
reaction that follows on excitement, whether the excitement is rapturous or
as sickening as last night’s had been, but not for a moment did she regret
her share either in the events of the evening before or in the sequel of this
morning. Last night had ended in utter fiasco, but she had done her best;
this morning’s talk had ended in a pretty sharp quarrel, but again she found
it impossible to reconsider her share in it. Humanly she felt beaten and
ridiculed and sick at heart, but not ashamed. She had passed a sleepless
night, and was horribly tired, with that tiredness that seems to sap all pluck
and power of resistance, and gradually her eyes grew dim, and the difficult
meagre tears of middle age, which are so bitter, began to roll down her
cheeks, and the hard inelastic sobs to rise in her throat.... Yet it was no use
sitting here crying, lunch and dinner had to be ordered whether she felt
unhappy or not; she had to see how extensive was the damage done to her
pink satin shoes by the wet pavements last night; she had to speak about
this ox-roasting fire. Also there was appointed a Suffragette meeting at Mr.
Turner’s house for eleven o’clock, at which past achievements and future
plans would be discussed. She had barely time to wash her face, for it was
unthinkable that Parker or the cook should see she had been crying, and get
through her household duties, before it was time to start.
She dried her eyes and went to the window, through which streamed the
pale saffron-coloured October sunshine. All the stormy trouble of the night
had passed, and the air sparkled with “the clear shining after rain.” But the
frost of a few nights before had blackened the autumn flowers, and the chill
rain had beaten down the glory of her husband’s chrysanthemums, so that
the garden-beds looked withered and dishevelled, like those whose interest
in life is finished, and who no longer care what appearance they present.
58. The interest of others in them seemed to be finished also; it was not the
gardener’s day here, for he only came twice in the week, and Major Ames,
who should have been assiduous in binding up the broken-stemmed,
encouraging the invalids, and clearing away the havoc wrought by the
storm, had left the house. Perhaps he had gone to the club, perhaps even
now he was trying to make light of it all. She could almost hear him say,
“Women get queer notions into their heads, and the notions run away with
them, bless them. You’ll take a glass of sherry with me, General, won’t
you? Are you by any chance going to Sir James’ shoot next week? I’m
shooting there one day.” Or was he talking it over somewhere else, perhaps
not making light of it? She did not know; all she knew was that she was
alone, and wanted somebody who understood, even if he disagreed. It did
not seem to matter that Lyndhurst utterly disagreed with her, what mattered
was that he had misunderstood her motives so entirely, that the monstrous
implication that she had been intoxicated seemed to him an excuse. And he
was not sorry. What could she do since he was not sorry? It was as difficult
to answer that as it was easy to know what to do the moment he was sorry.
Indeed, then it would be unnecessary to do anything; the reconciliation
would be automatic, and would bring with it something she yearned after,
an opportunity of making him see that she cared, that the woman in her
reached out towards him, in some different fashion now from that in which
she had tried to recapture the semblance of youth and his awakened
admiration. To-day, she looked back on that episode shamefacedly. She had
taken so much trouble with so paltry a purpose. And yet that innocent and
natural coquetry was not quite dead in her; no woman’s heart need be so old
that it no longer cares whether she is pleasing in her husband’s eyes. Only
to-day, it seemed to Mrs. Ames that her pains had been as disproportionate
to her purpose as they had been to its result; now she longed to take pains
for a purpose that was somewhat deeper than that for which she softened
her wrinkles and refreshed the colour of her hair.
She turned from the window and the empty garden, wishing that the rain
would be renewed, so that there would be an excuse for her to go to Mr.
Turner’s in a shut cab. As it was, there was no such excuse, and she felt that
it would require an effort to walk past the club window, and to traverse the
length of the High Street. Female Riseborough, on this warm sunny
morning, she knew would be there in force, popping in and out of shops,
and holding little conversations on the pavement. There would be but one
59. topic to-day, and for many days yet; it would be long before the autumn
novelty lost anything of its freshness. She wondered how her appearance in
the town would be greeted; would people smile and turn aside as she
approached, and whisper or giggle after she had gone by? What of the
Mayor who, like an honest tradesman, was often to be seen at the door of
his shop, or looking at the “dressing” of his windows? A policeman always
stood at the bottom of the street, controlling the cross-traffic from St.
Barnabas Road. Would he be that one who had helped to further her
movements last night?... She almost felt she ought to thank him.... And then
quite suddenly her pluck returned again, or it was that she realized that she
did not, comparatively speaking, care two straws for any individual
comment or by-play that might take place in the High Street, or for its
accumulated weight. There were other things to care about. For them she
cared immensely.
The High Street proved to be paved with incident. Turning quickly round
the corner, she nearly ran into Bill, the policeman, off duty at this hour, and
obviously giving a humorous recital of some sort to a small amused circle
outside the public-house. It was abruptly discontinued when she appeared,
and she felt that the interest that his audience developed in the sunny
October sky, which they contemplated with faint grins, would be succeeded
by stifled laughter after she had passed. A few paces further on, controlling
the traffic of market-day, was her other policeman Bill, who smiled in a
pleasant and familiar manner to her, as if there was some capital joke
private to them. Twenty yards further along the street was standing the
Mayor, contemplating his shop-window; he saw her, and urgent business
appeared to demand his presence inside. After that there came General
Fortescue tottering to the club; he crossed the street to meet her, and took
off his hat and shook hands.
“By Jove! Mrs. Ames,” he said, “I never enjoyed a meeting so much, and
my wife’s wild that she didn’t go. What a lark! Made me feel quite young
again. I wanted to shout too, and tell them to give the ladies a vote.
Monstrously amusing! Just going to the club to have a chat about it all.”
And he went on his way, with his fat old body shaking with laughter.
Then, feeling rather ill from this encounter, she heard rapid steps in pursuit
of her, and Mrs. Altham joined her.
60. Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.
More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge
connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.
Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and
personal growth every day!
testbankfan.com