Then Byle, the Precentor. He was, to
some extent, an unknown quantity. His chief characteristic perhaps was his
hatred of quarrels--he would say or do anything if only he might not be
drawn into a "row." "Peace at any price" was his motto, and this, of
course, as with the famous Vicar of Bray, involved a good deal of
insincerity. The Archdeacon knew that he could not trust him, but a
masterful policy of terrorism had always been very successful. Kyle was
frankly frightened by the Archdeacon, and a very good thing too! Might he
long remain so! Lastly there was Foster, the Diocesan Missioner. Let it be
said at once that the Archdeacon hated Foster. Foster had been a thorn in
the Archdeacon's side ever since his arrival in Polchester--a thin,
shambly-kneed, untidy, pale-faced prig, that was what Foster was! The
Archdeacon hated everything about him--his grey hair, his large protruding
ears, the pimple on the end of his nose, the baggy knees to his trousers,
his thick heavy hands that never seemed to be properly washed.
Nevertheless beneath that hatred the Archdeacon was compelled to a
reluctant admiration.
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