And yet not altogether. Brandon in prosperity was one thing, Brandon in
misfortune quite another. He had been abominably treated. What had he ever
done that was not actuated absolutely by zeal for the town and the
Cathedral?
And, after all, had that man Ronder acted straight? He was fair and genial
enough outwardly, but who could tell what went on behind those round
spectacles? There were strange stories of intrigue about. Had he not
determined to push Brandon out of the place from the first moment of his
arrival? And as far as this Pybus living went, it was all very well to be
modern and advanced, but wasn't Ronder advocating for the appointment a
man who laughed at the Gospels and said that there were no such things as
snakes and apples in the Garden of Eden? After all, he was a foreigner,
and Brandon belonged to them. Poor old Brandon!
Ronder was in his study, waiting for Wistons. Wistons had come to
Polchester for a night to see his friend Foster. It was an entirely
private visit, unknown to anybody save two or three of his friends among
the clergy.
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