Pendennis.
"They were not forsaken utterly, Arthur," says Mrs. Laura, gravely: but
rather declines to argue the point raised by me; namely, that the
selection of that especial thirty-seventh psalm was not complimentary to
those decayed old gentlemen.
"All the psalms are good, sir," she says, "and this one, of course, is
included," and thus the discussion closed.
I then fell to a description of Howland Street, and poor Clive, whom I
had found there over his work. A dubious maid scanned my appearance
rather eagerly when I asked to see him. I found a picture-dealer
chaffering with him over a bundle of sketches, and his little boy,
already pencil in hand, lying in one corner of the room, the sun playing
about his yellow hair. The child looked languid and pale, the father worn
and ill. When the dealer at length took his bargains away, I gradually
broke my errand to Clive, and told him from whence I had just come.
He had thought his father in Scotland with Lord H.: and was immensely
moved with the news which I brought.
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