United States or Haiti ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Deprayne?" she suggested when the silence had begun to be oppressive. I had always been accounted a talkative man. One could read in her face that she had the wit to sparkle in conversation like champagne in cut glass, yet under the constraint that had settled over us, we labored as platitudinously as a knickerbockered boy and a school-girl entertaining her first caller.
We ought to toast the piece, you know. It's been good to us." "I thought you were too tired," suggested the author in surprise. "We might have stopped where they had champagne." "I didn't want wine. But I need a quiet little chat to work off this nervousness." In his sitting-room Bobby announced, "I've got to pack. I'm leaving in the morning. Deprayne will entertain you with traveler's tales."
When you scuttle her boats you are throwing the parachute out of a leaky balloon." Coulter looked me over for a moment and replied with absolute composure. "Mr. Deprayne, rights are good things when you can enforce them. Consulates and courts of admiralty are a long way off. The intervening water is quite deep. If you don't like the Wastrel, leave it.
Weighborne, still too self-absorbed to see that worlds were crumbling in his library, turned suddenly to us with an apologetic laugh. "Frances," he said, "forgive me, I entirely forgot to present our guest." Even then he did not present me, but turned to me to add, "We've talked of you so much here, Mr. Deprayne, that I had overlooked the fact that introductions were in order.
He turned and shouted into her deaf ear, "Mother, Mr. Deprayne here has crossed the ocean. He's been to the Holy Land." The old woman lifted her wrinkled eyes and gazed at me, in wonderment. "Well, Prov-i-dence!" she exclaimed. It was her single contribution to the evening's conversation.
Then I heard the cold modulation of Marcus's voice. "Mr. Deprayne, state your name, age and place of residence." I did so. "Do you aver that an affidavit charging Judge Garvin with conspiracy to murder and suppress evidence was made by you, and that it is true?" "I do." The shuffling of brogans and boots had died out. The fall of a pin might have been heard at the ends of the room.
Garvin had looked up with an expression of surprise and then he had smiled. "Mr. Sheriff," he instructed, "call Mr. Deprayne." After that there had been a silence. While Garvin went through the formality of waiting to hear the announcement "the witness does not answer," he bent over the desk and once more exchanged compliments with the reporters.
Deprayne," she enthused, "it was under skies like this that Stevenson wrote, "'The world is so full of a number of things, That I feel we should all be as happy as kings." I smiled. "Yes," I murmured, "a number of things. Possibly too many things." There was running through my memory a passage from the diary written by the unknown girl.
He would promptly have prescribed a sanatorium. "Nonsense!" I scoffed, and just as I said it a bell-boy arrived at the table with a telegram on a small silver tray. "A message for Mr. Deprayne." I was totally unable to control the violent start that caused the cup to drop on the tablecloth with a crash, and doubtless made my face momentarily pale.
"I'm a real ash-trash now. No don't bother to see me down. Mr. Deprayne will put me into the taxi'." Outside the threshold she paused to thrust her head back into the room, and to laugh gaily as she shouted in the slang of the street: "Oh, you Galahad!" But her eyes were swimming with tears. As I climbed the creaking stairs again, I was pondering the question of contentment. Here were three of us.
Word Of The Day