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Devant heard the outer door close; then he sank in his chair and bowed his head upon the two photographs. "Where your mother went before you!" he groaned. "Poor little flotsam and jetsam!" "There goes Janet like a shot from a gun!" "Whar?" Davy and Mark were hauling oil up to the lamp.
I showed him my photographs, and he graciously invited me to give him some. I nodded cheerfully to him in assent, rolled them all up again, and put them back in my box. He knew that I did not understand. We had tea together, and then he took his leave, "Warry Ching, ching!" being his parting words.
Instead, he looked well at the books piled upon the shelves under these photographs, and wondered aloud at their number and at the man who could waste such a lot of time in reading them. But he made no more direct remarks. Was he cowed by the penetrating eye he encountered whenever he yielded to the fascination exerted by Mr. Brotherson's personality and looked his way?
He didn't want him about. "Where are you going for your walk?" he said. "Oh, anywhere. Why?" "Well, if you happen to be in Wyck, would you mind taking these photographs back to Pyecraft and showing him the ones I've chosen? Just see that he doesn't make any stupid mistake."
Sir Charles was not so sure of that, but he cheerfully responded, "Certainly. He is not the man for her at all, and you are. He knows it, too." "Hmf!" muttered Erskine, rising dejectedly. "Let's go upstairs." "By-the-bye, we are to call on him to-morrow, to go through his house, and his collection of photographs. Photographs! Ha, ha! Damn his house!" said Erskine.
"You remember, dear Marianne," said Guy, "the day when you boldly wrote upon the photographs to some one who loved you dearly: 'To him I love more than every one else in the world?" "Yes," said Marianne, blowing a cloud of smoke upward. "Such things as that are never forgotten when one writes them with the least sincerity." "And you were sincere?"
If they hesitate to strip us naked, or to cut our throats if we offer them the smallest resistance, they will show us more mercy than we ever showed them. Consider what we have done to get our rents in Ireland and Scotland, and our dividends in Egypt, if you have already forgotten my photographs and their lesson in our atrocities at home.
The photographs were a long time coming, but when they came they were "heavenly lovely" and Maggie "cried to look at them." Then she put one in an envelope and addressed it to Owen Owens, and though it had only to cross the street, she went out after dark to a pillar-box a long way off lest anybody should see her posting it.
He gave me on this day a long sitting of more than four hours, and when it was concluded we went to our family apartment to look at a collection of photographs which I had made in 1855-6-7 in Rome and Florence. While sitting in the rocking-chair, he took my little son on his lap and spoke kindly to him, asking his name, age, etc.
It all came back to our minds, and we reconstructed this story. The manufacturers of "Tomahawk Plug" had offered a dozen photographs of actresses and dancers to any one sending in a certain number of the tin hatchets concealed in their tobacco. The makers of "Broad-axe Navy" offered something equally cheap and alluring for consignments of their brass broad-axes.
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