The Rosery Folk
By George Manville Fenn
19 Nov, 2019
“Pray speak gently, dear.”
“Speak gently! how can a man speak gently? The things are of no value, but it worries me, I’ve taken such pains with them, through the cold weather, to bring them on.”
“You have, Sir James, you have, sir;
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“Pray speak gently, dear.”
“Speak gently! how can a man speak gently? The things are of no value, but it worries me, I’ve taken such pains with them, through the cold weather, to bring them on.”
“You have, Sir James, you have, sir; and I never let the fire go out once.”
“No: but you’ve let the grapes go out, confound you! and if I find that you have been dishonest—”
“Oh! but I’m sure, dear, that he would not be.”
“Thank you kindly, my lady,” said John Monnick, the old gardener, taking off his hat and wiping his streaming brow with his arm, as he stood bent and dejected, leaning upon his spade, with every line in his countenance puckered and drawn with trouble and a helpless look of appeal in his eyes. Less