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In answer to his summons another Negro entered a man of very different appearance from M'ganwazam so different, in fact, that Jane Clayton immediately decided that he was of another tribe.
Before Einstein had reached the pharmacy, driven on by a mad unrest, Randall Clayton threw on a loose top coat, slipped a loaded pistol in his pocket, and then, hailing the first empty carriage, dashed down to the Brooklyn Bridge.
When he had gone, Sven Anderssen turned toward Lady Greystoke the idiotic expression that had masked his thoughts had fallen away, and in its place was one of craft and cunning. "Hay tank Ay ban a fool," he said. "Hay ben the fool. Ay savvy Franch." Jane Clayton looked at him in surprise. "You understood all that he said, then?" Anderssen grinned. "You bat," he said.
I took the car, because it enabled me to do my parish work better. But I'm not going to run off to war and let you keep my family." Clayton glanced at him, at his fine erect old figure, his warmly flushed face. War did strange things. There was a new light in the rector's once worldly if kindly eyes.
To Alice, and especially to her mother, this bold and flowery letter had very nearly the force of a formal declaration. They read it over again and again, and spent most of the afternoon discussing it. There were few young men in Groveland eligible as husbands for so superior a person as Alice Clayton, and an addition to the number would be very acceptable.
As though himself fearing the very thing which Clayton had suspected, Black Michael accompanied them to shore, and was the last to leave them when the small boats, having filled the ship's casks with fresh water, were pushed out toward the waiting Fuwalda.
Had it not been for the man's very evident weakness, Clayton should have suspected him of having sinister knowledge of the girl's whereabouts; but he could see that Thuran lacked sufficient vitality even to descend, unaided, from the shelter. He could not, in his present physical condition, have harmed the girl, nor could he have climbed the rude ladder back to the shelter.
Although Mrs. Marygold was very fond of visiting them for the mere eclat of the thing, yet their company was scarcely more agreeable to her, than hers was to them, for there was little in common between them. Still, they had to tolerate her, and did so with a good grace. It was, perhaps, three months after Mrs. Clayton moved into the neighborhood, that cards of invitation were sent to Mr. and Mrs.
They were nearing Brooklyn when, in the still driving storm, Clayton descended and procured some restoratives at a pharmacy. He poured a draught of strong wine between the affrighted woman's pallid lips, and then whispered, "You must tell me where to take you. It is life or death now."
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