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He set the hat down for the water to percolate through the soft felt at its leisure. Then he moved on. The moment he was out of earshot Jeff's voice broke the silence once more. "Nan?" "Yes, Jeff?" "Wher's the red willow? How far away?" "A few yards." "Can you help me up?" The question came after a long considering pause. It came with a certain eagerness. But Nan remonstrated with all her might.
For the first time in all their acquaintanceship, Jeff's pride broke, and he held her away from him, while his lips were pathetic, and he mourned, "Why do you always try to hurt me?" "Oh, my dear, I don't." "Is it because you resent the decent things I have managed to do?" "I don't understand."
I don't mind being annoyed myself, but I really feel I must protect Mr. Boltwood." "What can I do?" "My dear sir, since you brought him here " It was the potassium cyanide and cracked ice and carpet tacks and TNT and castor oil in Jeff's "My dear sir" that did it. Milt discovered himself on his feet, bawling, "I am not your dear sir!
"I couldn't load up with anything of that sort, if I'm to work off my conditions, you know." "Are you in that boat?" said the altruist, as if he were, too; and he put his hand compassionately on Jeff's iron shoulder, and left him to Miss Lynde, whose side he had not stirred from since he had found her.
"Mother, I am here your own little lad. Mother, oh, mother! Mother dear " The soft brown eyes opened with a startled look. Then suddenly the intensity of yearning mother-love met Jeff's gaze. In a moment he was on his knees beside her with his arms about her neck.
For a day or two Jeff's conscience was active, and the memory of the resolutions inspired by the din of war gave to his thin visage a preternatural seriousness. In the evening his fiddle wailed out psalm-tunes to the entire exclusion of its former carnal strains. It must be admitted, however, that Jeff's grace was like the early dew.
Howsum, when folks git gay I can't see you're right to hold your hand. Now, them rights are sold by the law fellers of that widder woman, an', I guess, actin' under her instructions. Now, she knows she don't own no rights to sell. Wal, I allow she's on the crook." "Crook?" Jeff's interrogation came swiftly, in a harsh voice utterly unlike his own.
Set his blood to moving, I tell you, and before he knows it he'll be tussling for dear life and stamping on the next man and getting to the top." Lydia didn't want him to tussle, but she did want him at the top. She had not told Madame Beattie about the manuscript growing and growing on Jeff's table every night. It was his secret, his and hers, she reasoned; she hugged the knowledge to her heart.
"His paper wanted to know whether Jeff was coming here and who was to meet him. I said I didn't know." "Did he ask who you were?" "Yes. I told him I'd nothing to say. He said he understood Jeff's father was here, and asked if he might see him. I said, No, he couldn't see anybody." "Was he put out?" Anne had just heard Mary Nellen use the phrase. Anne thought it covered a good deal.
So, when his last effort to cheer had proved unavailing, he took his departure under the excuse of his own packing. He knew. Of course he knew. Had he not watched the progress of events throughout the week? Had he not seen for himself how Jeff's fancy had been caught?
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