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I, too, longed for a Cause into which I might fling myself, in which I might lose myself... I halted on the sidewalk to find myself staring from the opposite side of the street at a familiar house, my old landlady's, Mrs. Bolton's, and summoned up before me was the tired, smiling face of Hermann Krebs.
The audacity of the steps my enemies took, their remorseless thoroughness, the extraordinary completeness with which they covered their tracks, their appearances from nowhere and disappearances into space, were particularly nasty to contemplate with Bolton's fate so fresh in my mind. "They are pretty thorough," I said. She seemed to divine the thoughts behind this remark.
"What I'd like to know is where she got all that money of hers," piped an old man, with a mottled complexion and bleary eyes. "Sure enough; where'd she get it?" chimed in half a dozen voices at once. "She's Andrew Bolton's daughter," said the first speaker. "And she's been setting up for a fine lady, doing stunts for charity.
In point of fact, he did not notice that at all, until some time later. Denny Bolton's long, tanned face was entirely grave even graver than usual. Just a hint of wistfulness that would never quite leave them showed in his eyes and lurked in the line of his lips an intangible, fleeting suggestion of expectation that had waited patiently for something that had been very long in the coming.
"But she wouldn't have it that way. Do you know that girl of mine wouldn't hear of it. She expects to make it up to me.... Imagine making up eighteen years of hell with a few pet names, a soft bed and " "Stop!" cried Wesley Elliot, with a gesture of loathing. "I can't listen to you." "But you'll marry her eh?" Bolton's voice again dropped into a whining monotone. He even smiled deprecatingly.
Bolton rode away a wiser and a better man. When Mr. Halpin, some weeks afterwards, made reference to the right of way across Mr. Bolton's land, and asked if he would not sell him a narrow strip on the south edge of his farm, to be fenced off for a road, the latter said "No, Mr.
At Lord Bolton's house he met polished and intellectual society, and all that smoothness in ministering to the lower wants in eating and drinking which seems to provide that the right thing shall always be at the right place at the right time, so that the want of it shall never impede for an instant the feast of wit or reason; while, if he went to the houses of his friends, men of the same college and standing as himself, who had been seduced into early marriages, he was uncomfortably aware of numerous inconsistencies and hitches in their menages.
No man would have been such a fool as to have murdered Bolton ashore, when he could have done so without suspicion on board the tramp. Moreover, Hervey spoke with genuine regret, since he had missed the emeralds and assuredly would not have hesitated to steal them even at the cost of Bolton's life, had he known of their whereabouts.
Therefore, the remains of the unfortunate young man were taken to his humble home, and here the body was inspected by the jury when the inquest took place in the coffee-room of the Warrior Inn, immediately opposite Mrs. Bolton's abode.
We know how she went home very sadly on the previous Sunday evening, after she had seen Arthur light his lamp in his chambers, while he was having his interview with Bows. Bows came back to his own rooms presently, passing by the Lodge door, and looking into Mrs. Bolton's, according to his wont, as he passed, but with a very melancholy face. She had another weary night that night.
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