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"I never saw before so many pretty girls together," said Lady Amberley to the writer, after a visit to the public schools of Boston; and then added, "They all looked sick."
"Now, see here. When that freight gets in I hold you responsible that the hindmost car next the caboose is dropped here, and the seals are intact. It's billed loaded with barrels of cube sugar, for Calford. Get me? That's your duty just now. See you do it." Huntly understood Fyles. Everybody in Amberley understood him.
She saw herself as the anarchist prowling outside, tracked, spied on, held at arm's length by all decent citizens, all lovers of ancient beauty, and moral tradition; while, within, women like Susy Amberley sat Madonna-like, with the children at their knee. "Well, we stand for the children too the children of the future!" she said to herself defiantly.
It's probable there's no Adamses here at all now. But it's romantic, yes, it's romantic. It's splendid. Get up, my nag, get up." The Adams place itself was not unromantic. The house was a large, old-fashioned white one, with green shutters and a front porch with Grecian columns. These were thought very elegant in Amberley. Mrs. Carmody said they gave a house such a classical air.
In fact, there were only two things that made life tolerable for him in Amberley. These were the doings of the Mounted Police, and the doings of those who made their existence a necessity in the country. Even while weighted down with the oppressive routine of his work, it was an inspiriting thing to watch the war between law and lawlessness.
Why had she been such a fool as to come to Monk Lawrence at all, and then to submit to seeing it on sufferance! in Winnington's custody? And how he must be contrasting her with Susy Amberley! the soft sister of charity, plying her womanly tasks, in the manner of all good women, since the world began!
Since the house had been closed to visitors, and a notice to the effect had been posted in the village, scarcely a soul had penetrated through its enclosing woods, except Miss Amberley, who came to teach Daunts crippled child. And now in one evening here were three assaults upon its privacy! But as to the third he was soon reassured. "Hullo, Daunt, is that you?
As Susy Amberley timidly approached her, and began to make conversation, she looked up coldly, and hardly answered. Meanwhile Mrs. Andrews was pouring out a flood of talk under which the uncomfortable Winnington for it always fell to him as host to entertain her sat practising endurance.
"Now, you just start right in and get busy on the wires. You can just hammer seven sorts of hell into your instruments and call up Amberley quick. You're goin' to put 'em wise right away. Macinaw! When I'm done with this thing you're goin' to hate White Point wuss'n hell, an' wish to Gawd they'd cut 'flag station' right out o' the conversation of the whole durned American continent." Mr.
"That's where I ought to've started from," he said. Then he shrugged his great shoulders. "Here, I'll tell you. I come from down East, and I'm on my way to join a brother of mine at Rocky Springs. He's a rancher. Sort of artist, too. His name's Charlie Bryant. My name's Bill Bill Bryant. Well, I ought to have got off at Black Cross, and changed trains for the Amberley branch.
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