G. A. Birmingham

Summary

G. A. Birmingham Minnie's Bishop and Other Stories… (1915)

But I fancy sometimes I can hear the men laugh or smell the scent off the women's clothes. It's just for a moment. Then I'm back with the flatness again; with what you call the moral platitudes; with the clergy and their matins and evensong; their thin, sharp spires; and their gardens, with little laburnum trees in them, and rose bushes, and strawberry beds; and all the things they say, the quite true things they keep on saying every day.
Source: Wikisource

G. A. Birmingham Minnie's Bishop and Other Stories… (1915)

My uncle's eyebrows went up in mild surprise.
"With my curate! Do you know him?"
"No, I don't. But I knew a brother of his very well in college. We rowed in a boat together. The poor fellow is in London now. I fear he is going rapidly to the bad; drink, you know, and other things."
When I lie I always do so with such detail as will carry conviction. It would be the curate's business afterwards, not mine, to explain that fallen brother.
"Ah," said my uncle Ambrose. "Sad, very sad. You're sure to find Metcalf in his lodgings about eleven o'clock.
Source: Wikisource

G. A. Birmingham Minnie's Bishop and Other Stories… (1915)

The squire and Lady Crumlin are perhaps to blame to some extent. My uncle Ambrose and the clergy of his rural deanery have a certain responsibility. My own conscience is not wholly clear. The landscape of Cambridgeshire and the church spires—poor Metcalf felt those spires greatly—have their share of the blame. But there may be something more. Ought the Christian religion to look hopelessly flat to a man?
Source: Wikisource

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