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He understood that Randall meant to keep himself to himself. Or was it, Mercier wondered, his young wife that he meant to keep? And wondering, he smiled more atrociously than ever. It pleased him, it excited him to think that young Randall regarded him as dangerous. But Randall did not regard him as dangerous in the least.
One morning last winter I was speeding eastward to the Crescent City, the freshest of my memories a struggle at Houston with one of those breakfasts which so atrociously distinguish the reign of the magnate who is said to supply under contract all the meals of the Southern railway-restaurants, and who, "if ever fondest prayer for others' woe avail on high," will certainly be booked, with the vote of some of his victims, for a post-mundane berth a good deal warmer than his coffee and more sulphurous than his eggs.
There was a moment of silence. This fable, so atrociously ingenious, was simply and impressively narrated, and with an air of candour well contrived to impose on the magistrate, or, at least, to suggest grave doubts to his mind. Derues, with his usual cunning, had conformed his language to the quality of his listener.
That redoubtable dandy now watched the Vidame de Pamiers' introduction of his young friend to that lovely woman, and bent over to say in Rastignac's ear: "My dear fellow, he will go up whizz! like a rocket, and come down like a stick," an atrociously vulgar saying which was remarkably fulfilled.
At least three additional glasses of the brandy went the way of the first. He grinned atrociously and smacked his corrugated lips; but when Gaspard Roussillon came in, the old man was sitting at some distance from the bottle and glass gazing indifferently out across the veranda. He told his story curtly.
It was an atrociously strong toddy, purposely made so by the old servant to compensate for the long day's absence; and almost at once, especially as he had eaten nothing since breakfast, its strength began to tell. "Zack, when Doctor Meal comes tonight, I wish you'd send him up to graft a dozen mule legs on me." "Mule legs, Marse Brent!" the old negro peered at him.
They couldn't go so, with that nose and those puckers. The thing is not real. It has been atrociously edited. Part is nature's; part, the photographer's; part, even possibly paint and powder." "But the underlying face?" "Is a minx's." I handed her the letter. "This next?" I asked, fixing my eyes on her as she looked. She read it through. For a minute or two she examined it.
I want that batch of invalids carefully watched. Besides, there's a furlough there for you. Don't say one word! You're not well, I tell you. I had to send those invalids back; the place here is atrociously crowded. Try to find some way of getting to the landing. And take care of your pretty little self for God's sake!"
"We will send him a cheque. That'll settle him all right." That evening after the guinea cheque had been despatched, things were further brightened by the arrival of a letter of atrociously jellygraphed advices from Messrs. Danks and Wimborne.
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