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tle. It appealed to a late

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

nt sense of humour and he smiled wryly. Yes. He was a Professor—had been for the last ten y

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

ears, at Margett’s Universal College, Hickney Heath; a professor engaged in cramming large

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

classes of tradesmen’s children, both youths and maidens, with such tricksters’ command of

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

French grammar and vocabulary as would enable them to obtain high marks in the stereotyped

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

examinations for humble positions in the Public and semi-public services. He had reduced the

55125中国彩吧,更懂彩民体彩

necessary instruction to an exact science. He had carried hundreds of pupils through their

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examinations with flying colours; but he had never taught a single human being to speak thirty consecutive coherent words of French or to read and e

njoy a French book. When he was very young and foolish he had tried to teach them the French speech as a l

  • y first visit to F

iving, organic mode of communication between human beings, with the result that his pupils soul-strung for examinations had revolted and the great Cyrus Margett, founder of the colossal and horrib

  • rance,” said Ma

le Strasbourg goose factory known as Margett’s Universal College, threatened to sack him if he persisted in such damnable and unprofitable imbecility. So, being poor and unenterprising and having

  • rtin. “Mais comm

no reason to care whether a Mr. James Bagshawe or a Miss Susan Tulliver profited for more than the examination moment by his teaching, he had taught the dry examination-bones of the French langua

  • ent donc? You sp

ge for ten years. And—“Monsieur est professeur,” from Monsieur Bocardon! Then, as he turned away and began to mount the dingy stairs that led to his bedroom, it struck him that he was now only

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iversal College. The vast, original Margett had retired with fortune, liver and head deservedly swollen to county magnateship, leaving, for pe

  • eak
  • French lik
  • e a French
  • man.” “
  • My mother wa

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  • shibboleth, “efficiency,” had dismissed all those professors who did not attain his standard of slickness. Martin Overshaw was not slick. The young apostl

    e of efficiency had dismissed Martin Overshaw at a month’s notice, after ten years service. It was as t

  • hough a practised gougeur or hand gorger of geese had been judged obsolescent and made to give place to one who gorged them by Hertzian rays. The new Olympian h

    ad flashed a glance, a couple of lightning questions at Martin and that was the end. In truth, Martin Overshaw

  • did not emanate efficiency like the eagle-faced men in the illustrated advertisements who undertake to teach you how to become a millionaire in a fortnight. H

    e was of mild and modest demeanour; of somewhat shy and self-depreciatory attitude; a negligible persona

  • lity in any assemblage of human beings; a man (according to the blasphemous saying) of no account. Of medium height, thin, black-haired, of sallow compl

    exion, he regarded the world unspeculatively out of clear grey eyes, that had grown rather tired. As he br

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ushed his hair before the long strip of wardrobe mirror, it did not occur to him to criticise his reflected image. He made no claims to impecc

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ability of costume. His linen and pe

  • “And I l
  • ived all my boyhoo
  • d in Switzerland—
  • in the Canton de Vaud. F
  • rench is my moth

rson were scrupulo

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usly clean; his sober suit comparati

  • er tongue,
  • and I have been t
  • eaching it in Engl
  • and ever since.” “Aha
  • ! Monsieur is pr

vely new. But his

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appearance, though he knew it not, s

  • ofesseur??/li>
  • ?Monsieur Bocardo
  • n asked politely.
  • “Yes, professeur,” sa
  • id Martin, consc

uffered from a mas

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culine dowdiness, indefinable, yet obvious. His ill-tied cravat had an inveterate quarrel with his ill-chosen collar and left the collar stud

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exposed, and innocent of sumptuary crime he al

lowed his socks to ruck over his ankles. . . . Once he had grown a full black beard, full in the barber’s sense, but de

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jectedly straggling to the commonplace eye of

a landlady’s daughter who had goaded him into a tepid flirtation. To please the nymph long since married to a virtuous

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plumber whom Martin himself had called in to m

ake his bath a going concern, he had divested himself of the offending excrement and contented himself thenceforward wit

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h a poor little undistinguished moustache. A v

ery ordinary, unarresting young man was Martin Overshaw. Yet, in his simple, apologetic way—exempli gratia, when he smi

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led with deferential confidence on the shabby concierge and the greasy Monsieur Bocardon—he carried with him an air of good-breeding, a disarming,

August 2014

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sensitiveness

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of manner which commanded the respect, contemptuous though it might have sometimes been, of coarser natures. A long, thin, straight nose with delicate nostrils, the only noticeable feature of his face, may have had something to do with this impression of refinement. Much might be wri

tten on noses.

Tempor vestibulum turpis

The Great Master of Noseology, Lawrence Sterne, did but broach the subject. On account, perhaps, of a long head terminating in a long blunt chin, and a mild patience of expression, he bore at Margett’s Universal College the traditional sobriquet of “Cab-horse.” The cab-horse, ho

wever, was now

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turned out to

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grass—in Aug

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ust Paris. He had been there three days and his head swam with the wonder of it. As he walked along the indicated route to the Petit Cornichon in the airless dark, he felt the thrill of freedom and of romance. Down the Boulevard Sébastopol he went, past the Tour Saint Jacques, throu

gh the Place d

  • u Chatelet over the Pont au Change and across the ?le de la Cité to the Boulevard Saint Michel, and turned to the right along the Boulevard Saint G

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  • ermain until he came to the Rue Bonaparte and his destination. It was the sweltering cool of the evening. Paris sat out of doors, at cafés, at gateways

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  • in shirt sleeves and loosened bodices, at shop fronts, at dusty tables before humble restaurants. Pedestrians walked languidly in quest of ultimate seats

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  • . In the wide thoroughfares the omnibuses went their accustomed route; but motor-cabs whizzed unfrequent for lack of custom—they who could afford to ri

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de in taxi-autos on the rive gauche were far away in cooler regions—and the old horses of crawling fiacres hung stagnant heads. Only the stal

e dregs of Paris remained in the Boul’ Mich. Yet it

was Fairyland to the emancipated professor in partibus wh

o paused here

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