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The first time I met her I was a reporter in the embryonic state and she was a girl in short dresses. It was in a garden, surrounded by high red brick walls which were half hidden by clusters of green vines, and at the base of which nestled earth-beds, radiant with roses and poppies and peonies and bushes of lavender lilacs, all spilling their delicate ambrosia on the mild air of passing May.
"Simply that we are two newspaper men looking for an article, without names, dates, or places just a good story of yeggmen and tramps. I've got a little well, we'll call it a little camera outfit that I'm going to sling over my shoulder. You are the reporter, remember, and I'm the newspaper photographer. They won't pose for us, of course, but that will be all right.
"Things seem to be happening quite rapidly," the young reporter mused, as he got off at the elevated station nearest to his destination. "First thing I know I'll find him, and then I'll not have a chance to see Grace any more." He dwelt on this thought, half-laughing at himself.
There's nothing there now but a few fishermen's huts. But I guess that's nearer the wreck than Sea Isle City or Sackett's Harbor." "Is there a place I could stay all night?" asked the young reporter. "You might find a place. It's pretty lonesome. Sometimes, in the summer, there are campers there, but it's too late in the fall now to expect any of 'em.
"Are you a river man?" the visitor asked. "No. My father was a big farmer, and he made some money when they put a railroad through one of his places." "Just tripping down to see the river?" "No-o well " Carline hesitated, looking overside at the water. "That must be Wolf Island over there?" the reporter suggested. Carline looked at the island.
He was already pretty far gone in drink, stood leaning against the wall, in a provoking pose, and was nervously chewing a cigarette. "Which Ninka is this?" asked Yarchenko with curiosity. "Is she here?" "No, she isn't here. Such a small, pug-nosed little girl. Naive and very angry." The reporter suddenly and sincerely burst into laughter.
"The conversation will be short, but ... the devil knows ... how to approach it." He looked at Jennie in abstraction. "Shall I go away, then?" said she indifferently. "No, you sit a while," the reporter answered for Lichonin. "She won't be in the way," he turned to the student and slightly smiled. "For the conversation will be about prostitution? Isn't that so?" "Well, yes... sort of..."
"I see that nothing escapes your observation." "It is my business to notice everything and to draw my own conclusions," said the reporter modestly. "They are shrewdly correct in this case. Would you be surprised," continued Dryden in a confidential tone, "if I were to inform you that I believe it lies in your power to procure me a home and happiness?" Harrington chuckled in his secret soul.
Mannering, I believe?" he said, quickly. "What has my name to do with you, sir?" Mannering answered, coldly. "Mine is Ronaldson," the young man answered. "I am a reporter." Mannering regarded him steadily for a moment. "You are the young man, then," he said, "who has discovered the mare's nest of my iniquity."
The Emperor listened to the young reporter with complete stupefaction. He murmured, "Poor lad!" then, suddenly: "But how have you managed to escape them?" "Sire they have given me twenty-four hours for you to set Natacha at liberty, that is to say, that you restore her to her rights, all her rights, and she be always the recognized heiress of Trebassof. Do you understand me, Sire?
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