Edgar had been chopping wood when the crackplot hit--he decides that he has been given the day off, stacks what he's done so far, and carries a decent armload inside to make himself a fire ( Read more... )

Edgar has been sleeping poorly of late--he often wakes at noon to discover that he has undone all but one of the locks on his door, and that his things are not where he had left them in the evening. He seldom presents himself for meals, instead creeping into the kitchen afterward (as though he is ashamed) to take a plate of leftovers back to his ( Read more... )

Edgar will be reading a book under a tree--David Harvey's Spaces of Hope, which is a good deal less hopeful than he had hoped--when the crackplot comes across him; he shivers a little at the sudden, autumnal breeze, and looks up. The Mansion's grounds roll out before him, lovely and clean and very definitely not his university. He stands at once ( Read more... )

The nineteenth was the first century of human sympathy,--the age when half wonderingly we began to descry in others that transfigured spark of divinity which we call Myself; when clodhoppers and peasants, and tramps and thieves, and millionaires and-sometimes-Negros, became throbbing souls whose warm pulsing life touched us so nearly that we half ( Read more... )

In the back yard, Edgar is planing wood carefully; sweat dampens his brow, and the shoulders of his shirt are soaked with sweat. Planing is a slow process, with what tools he could find, but his patience is producing neat, smooth boards. These will one day be pews for Alyosha's church--he smiles, to think of the young man who had spoken so ( Read more... )

In a mansion occupied by thousands, it's all but impossible to find a single man when one lacks knowledge of his lodgings or habits or even his name. Edgar quickly realizes that he will not find Hagbard Celine in a systematic sweep of every room in every hall; there are just too many. Therefore, remembering that Hagbard had wanted the plothole ( Read more... )

Edgar recently had a day of truly poor luck in hunting, and as a consequence, he has run out of ammunition for his fusil. The loss has made him recognize the prudence of conserving the firearms; therefore, he may be found outside, throwing his tomahawk at a block of heavy wood to retrain his aim. He has stripped down to his shirtsleeves and ( Read more... )

Having learned substantially more about what rusalka are, Edgar is now in PANIC mode. He is tearing through the Mansion in search of Mrs. Watson, and he is trailing Gen Watanabe and Helen Rossi in his wake.

Two notices on the noticeboard, with varying degrees of accurate spelling rewritten by Gen:

If any here have information regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Alexander Misurov, please advise Mr. Edgar Huntly. He may be found in the main hall between the hours of noon and three.

and also, in much larger letters,

One bedframe, free, with mattress. ( Read more... )

Edgar has been laboring over his Latin lately; when he takes his customary walks, he recites conjugations and declensions like a prayer, and he has devoted countless hours to the Ovid translation that was his Christmas present ( Read more... )