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As I did so a small stream of water burst its way through below the flooring and began pouring over the side of the excavation, at the bottom of which only a moment before had rested Olga's casket. Like a flash I understood the situation.
Let us go out and drink to the very good health of Monsieur Tarzan in some of old Plancon's unparalleled absinth; not forgetting that the Count de Coude is one of the best swordsmen in Paris, and by far the best shot in all France." When Tarzan reached Olga's, Jacques was awaiting him at the entrance. "This way, Monsieur," he said, and led the way up the broad, marble staircase.
But the tragic voice went on intoning stubbornly, "Blood on his hands! Red! Dripping! I see blood!" Mrs. Brenner shuddered. "Seems like you could shut up a spell!" she complained. The old woman's voice trailed into a broken and fitful whispering. Olga's commands were the only laws she knew, and she obeyed them. Mrs. Brenner went back to the stove.
"How are we to see Dane?" demanded Olga wonderingly. Ware explained the use made of Olga's name by Steel to trap the man. "I expect Steel will call on you to-day to tell you this," he said cheerfully. "I am not sorry, and yet I am," said Olga thoughtfully. "I know much about Mark Dane, and want to save him from his bad companions.
Olga's long polished finger nail shuttled back and forth. Here was Paris, there Rouen, here Evreux there Alenon. Curious! Hermia with her machine doing in half a day from Paris what John Markham had taken four days from Rouen to do afoot. What more improbable? And yet entirely possible!
It would be a shame to throw a wet blanket on the girl's attempt to enjoy her triumph in her own way. So Rose kissed her and told her how pleased she was, and good-humoredly forbore to disclaim, except as her wide smile did it for her, Olga's extravagant protestations of undying love and gratitude. Rose injected common-sense considerations where she could.
She didn't regret Olga's promotion, but she did wish, for herself, that she might have been spared just now, this ironic little cackle of laughter on the part of the malicious Goddess of Chance. She was ashamed of the feeling was she getting as small as that? and, in consequence, she congratulated Olga a good deal more warmly than otherwise she would have done.
Georgie felt terribly inclined to be offended and tell Olga that she was tired of him: or to be dignified and say he was unusually busy. Never had he shown such forbearance towards downright rudeness as he had shown to Lucia, and though he had shown that for Olga's sake, she seemed to be without a single spark of gratitude, but continued to urge her request.
Olga exclaimed in horror, but Max Wyndham made no sound of any sort. The cigarette remained between his lips, and not a muscle of his face moved. His hand with the broken needle in it was not withdrawn. It clenched slowly, that was all. The blood welled up under Olga's dismayed eyes, and began to trickle over the brown fist. She threw a frightened glance into his grim face.
A heavy dew fell last night, produced, I imagine, by the moisture in the glen, and not by extraneous atmospheric causes, as we have had none for some nights previously. Leave for Mount Olga. Change of scene. Desert oak-trees. The Mann range. Fraser's Wells. Mount Olga's foot. Gosse's expedition. Marvellous mountain. Running water. Black and gold butterflies. Rocky bath. Ayers' Rock.
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