Had Peter been sufficiently calm and sensible these
appendages to a great author would have been worth his attention. Behold
them in relation to "Henry Lessingham," soaked in the works, bearing on
their backs the whole Edition de Luxe, decking themselves with the little
odds and ends of literary finery that they had picked up, bursting with the
good-nature of assured self-consequence--harmless, foolish, comfortable.
Mrs. Galleon was massive with a large flat face that jumped suddenly into
expression when one least expected it. There was a great deal of silk about
her, much leisurely movement and her tactics were silence and a slow,
significant smile--these she always contributed to any conversation that
was really beyond her. Had she not, during many years of her life, been
married to a genius she would have been an intensely slow-moving but
adequate housekeeper--as it was, her size and her silence enabled her to
keep her place at many literary dinners. Peter, watching her, was consumed
with wonder that Henry Galleon could ever have married her and understood
that Bobby was the child of both his parents. Bobby had a brother and
sister--Percival and Millicent. Percival was twenty-five and had written
two novels that were considered promising by those who did not know that he
was the son of his father. He was slim and dark with a black thread of a
moustache and rather fine white fingers.
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