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It might be two years after this that she one day received a letter that filled her with joy and amazement. It contained a check for her whole nine hundred pounds back again. "The bank had just received from Ronald Sinclair, of San Francisco, the whole amount due it, with the most satisfactory acknowledgment and interest."
"From you? Tush! I know it is impossible. I'd as soon try to hide myself in an open field from that hawk. No, no! I'll give you my parole, my word of honor that I'll make no escape." But Sinclair struck in with: "I don't want your parole. Hang it, man, just do your best, and I'll do mine. You try to give me the slip, and I'll try to keep you from it. That's square all around."
Another blow, driven home with equal power and precision on the opposite side, made the tree shudder to its top, and the third blow sent it swishing to the earth. This brought a short cry of admiration and wonder from the schoolteacher, for which Sinclair rewarded him with one glance of contempt. With sweeping strokes he cleared away the half-dead branches. Presently the trunk was naked.
Now that Mr. Sinclair, in his great book "The Jungle," has brought the multiplied horrors of the great packing-houses before our very eyes, we might witness the hoisting of the cattle over the ship's side without feeling such intense pity, admitting that everything is relative, even cruelty.
It was not that he wished to bring the schoolteacher to trouble, but it had angered him to see one girl balk seven grown men. "Stand aside," said Riley Sinclair. "Not an inch!" "Lady, I'll move you." "Stranger, if you touch me, you'll be taught better. The gents in Sour Creek don't stand for suchlike ways!"
Another person was sitting there, a person I had been most anxious to see ever since my last interview with Sinclair. It was Gilbertine Murray, sitting alone in an attitude of deep, and possibly not altogether happy thought. I paused to study the sweet face. Truly she was a beautiful woman. I had never before realised how beautiful.
It's more than just friendship, Sinclair, it's the smallest crack in the solid front of the Solar Alliance, but it's a crack that can be opened further if we don't stop it now." Sinclair was impressed. "Very well, Major, I'll tell you everything I know about them. And you're right, it is hard to talk about your friends. I've grown up here in the Venusian jungle.
Riley Sinclair rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking past his accuser. "I don't think so," he said at length. "You don't think so? Don't you know?" "They was two Mexicans jumped me once. One of 'em was called Pedro. Maybe the other was Quade. That who you're talking about? "You can't talk yourself out of it, Sinclair," said Denver Jim. "We mean business, real business, you'll find out!"
All his strong instincts cried out to find Sandersen and, having found him, to shoot him and flee. Yet he had a sense of fatality connected with Sandersen. Lowrie's own conscience had betrayed him, and his craven fear had been his executioner. Quade had been shot in a fair fight with not a soul near by. But, at the third time, Sinclair felt reasonably sure that his luck would fail him.
"But I can't stay in this place all night. Can't you get somebody to help me?" "Y'bet," the boy responded. "Buck and Bright'll help y'outer this fix. Jes' wait a minute." At this he hurried away, and although he was gone not much over half an hour it seemed to Sinclair like an age before "Haw, Buck! G'up, Bright! Git up thar!" sounded upon his ears.
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