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"We've been cheated!" he cries, to the stenographer's horror. He thinks of his friends, his partners, his employees, of conductors on trains and waiters in lunchrooms and drivers of taxicabs.
One man, in dilapidated, dirty finery, was leaning over the stenographer's desk, talking about the last big strike and guessing at the chance of there being any fun ahead in the immediate future.
At least they knew enough to be sorry for him of that he was sure; though there was nothing on this particular morning to display the sympathy, unless it was the stenographer's smile as he passed her in the anteroom, and the three small yellow chrysanthemums she had placed in a glass on his desk.
What were this couple talking about as they promenaded, basking in each other's presence? It does not matter. They were getting to know each other, quite as much by what they did not say as by what they did say, by the thousand little exchanges of feeling and sentiment which are all-important, and never appear even in a stenographer's report of a conversation.
There was desk accommodation for two or three of those bright young men who make a selection of keys and take people about to look at houses; there was a stenographer's desk with a stenographer sitting at it; and back of a table in the corner, in the attitude of one making herself as comfortable as the heat of the day would permit, while she scowled over a voluminous typewritten document, was E. Eliot herself.
"So-and-so has just phoned me. It's fine, isn't it?" He took a small pad from his pocket, made a note on it, and laid the memorandum beside the stenographer's machine. Then he wound his way back to the fireplace and offered a case of cigarettes. He held them within a few inches of my hand.
Powers' words, from that to the stenographer's, to the name on the envelope . . . and then like the door to a white-hot blast-furnace thrown open in her face, came the searing conception of the possibility that it might be true, and all the world lost.
"Perhaps," he said, with what seemed to him Spartan self-restraint, "you can explain the meaning of that scene." Betty looked out with an air of intelligent interest. "Oh yes!" she said vivaciously. "I think I can. It's a Voiceless Speech." "A voice l " George's own face was a voiceless speech as he repeated two syllables of his stenographer's explanation. "Yes.
If the captain wishes to know something more of his passenger, say that it is a friend of the third or fourth vice-president, or of one of the directors, or of the office boy's, or the stenographer's, or anybody at all, taking a little sea trip for his health.
They would have to disentangle the mesh of evidence and find out whether that important piece of testimony on page 204 was excepted to or not, then whether there was a proper ruling; refer to the stenographer's minutes and look at the important exception on page 59 and again on page 106. Unless the question decided was excepted to, the Appellate Court can not decide it.
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