Gore."
The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine,
with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or
careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils
unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together.
"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she
can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the
vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch."
"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so
many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not
allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs.
Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him."
"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for
him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in
him."
"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response,
"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a
very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active
part in this matter there are others she can influence.
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