Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub e ink reader .TXT) 📕
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Doctor Thorne is the third book in Trollope’s “Chronicles of Barsetshire” series, which is set in the fictional county of Barsetshire, somewhere in England’s West Country. Unlike the two earlier novels in the series, Doctor Thorne isn’t set in the cathedral city of Barchester, but in the small village of Greshamsbury and the estate of the local squire, Greshamsbury Park.
Doctor Thorne is a middle-aged medical practitioner in Greshamsbury, a friend of the local squire Mr. Gresham, who is deeply in debt because of ill-advised attempts to gain a seat in Parliament. Doctor Thorne not only provides medical advice to the Greshams, but also assists Mr. Gresham in obtaining financial loans from a local self-made entrepreneur, Sir Richard Scratcherd. When Mr. Gresham’s son Frank comes of age, it is impressed on the young man that he must “marry money” to overcome the debts of the estate.
Doctor Thorne is regarded highly among Trollope’s works, with one prominent critic, Michael Sadleir, writing in 1927 of “the sensational perfection of Doctor Thorne.”
A television adaptation of the book was produced by ITV and aired in March 2016, with a script written by Julian Fellowes, the writer of Gosford Park and Downton Abbey
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- Author: Anthony Trollope
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“I shall come over to Boxall Hill and see you,” said the doctor, whose heart softened towards the man, in spite of his brutality, as the hour of his departure came.
“I shall be happy to see you if you like to come, of course; that is, in the way of visiting, and that sort of thing. As for doctoring, if I want any I shall send for Fillgrave.” Such were his last words as the carriage, with a rush, went off from the door.
The doctor, as he re-entered the house, could not avoid smiling, for he thought of Dr. Fillgrave’s last patient at Boxall Hill. “It’s a question to me,” said he to himself, “whether Dr. Fillgrave will ever be induced to make another visit to that house, even with the object of rescuing a baronet out of my hands.”
“He’s gone; isn’t he, uncle?” said Mary, coming out of her room.
“Yes, my dear; he’s gone, poor fellow.”
“He may be a poor fellow, uncle; but he’s a very disagreeable inmate in a house. I have not had any dinner these two days.”
“And I haven’t had what can be called a cup of tea since he’s been in the house. But I’ll make up for that tonight.”
XXXVIII De Courcy Precepts and de Courcy PracticeThere is a mode of novel-writing which used to be much in vogue, but which has now gone out of fashion. It is, nevertheless, one which is very expressive when in good hands, and which enables the author to tell his story, or some portion of his story, with more natural trust than any other, I mean that of familiar letters. I trust I shall be excused if I attempt it as regards this one chapter; though, it may be, that I shall break down and fall into the commonplace narrative, even before the one chapter be completed. The correspondents are the Lady Amelia de Courcy and Miss Gresham. I, of course, give precedence to the higher rank, but the first epistle originated with the latter-named young lady. Let me hope that they will explain themselves.
Miss Gresham to Lady Amelia de Courcy
Greshamsbury House, June, 185-.
My dearest Amelia,
I wish to consult you on a subject which, as you will perceive, is of a most momentous nature. You know how much reliance I place in your judgement and knowledge of what is proper, and, therefore, I write to you before speaking to any other living person on the subject: not even to mamma; for, although her judgement is good too, she has so many cares and troubles, that it is natural that it should be a little warped when the interests of her children are concerned. Now that it is all over, I feel that it may possibly have been so in the case of Mr. Moffat.
You are aware that Mr. Mortimer Gazebee is now staying here, and that he has been here for nearly two months. He is engaged in managing poor papa’s affairs, and mamma, who likes him very much, says that he is a most excellent man of business. Of course, you know that he is the junior partner in the very old firm of Gumption, Gazebee, and Gazebee, who, I understand, do not undertake any business at all, except what comes to them from peers, or commoners of the very highest class.
I soon perceived, dearest Amelia, that Mr. Gazebee paid me more than ordinary attention, and I immediately became very guarded in my manner. I certainly liked Mr. Gazebee from the first. His manners are quite excellent, his conduct to mamma is charming, and, as regards myself, I must say that there has been nothing in his behaviour of which even you could complain. He has never attempted the slightest familiarity, and I will do him the justice to say, that, though he has been very attentive, he has also been very respectful.
I must confess that, for the last three weeks, I have thought that he meant something. I might, perhaps, have done more to repel him; or I might have consulted you earlier as to the propriety of keeping altogether out of his way. But you know, Amelia, how often these things lead to nothing, and though I thought all along that Mr. Gazebee was in earnest, I hardly liked to say anything about it even to you till I was quite certain. If you had advised me, you know, to accept his offer, and if, after that, he had never made it, I should have felt so foolish.
But now he has made it. He came to me yesterday just before dinner, in the little drawing-room, and told me, in the most delicate manner, in words that even you could not have but approved, that his highest ambition was to be thought worthy of my regard, and that he felt for me the warmest love, and the most profound admiration, and the deepest respect. You may say, Amelia, that he is only an attorney, and I believe that he is an attorney; but I am sure you would have esteemed him had you heard the very delicate way in which he expressed his sentiments.
Something had given me a presentiment of what he was going to do when I saw him come into the room, so that I was on my guard. I tried very hard to show no emotion; but I suppose I was a little flurried, as I once detected myself calling him Mr. Mortimer: his name, you know, is Mortimer Gazebee. I ought not to have done so, certainly; but it was not so bad as if I had called him Mortimer without the Mr., was it? I don’t think there could possibly be a prettier Christian name than Mortimer. Well, Amelia, I allowed him to express himself without interruption. He once attempted to take my hand; but even this was done without any assumption of familiarity; and when he saw that I
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