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Stoner's hearers were intent; they exchanged puzzled glances. Mallow was the first to speak. "Come on. What's the joker? I ain't saying you'd murder the guy for that farm, but if it's as good as that he'd of died of the plague or something, and left it to you long before this." "In a way, I'm getting ahead of my story," Stoner continued, imperturbably.
On the street or in the park the call had come when she was utterly alone. It seemed to come out of the air, from behind a tree in the park. And now as she walked on the railroad tracks with Melville Stoner the call seemed to come from him. He walked along apparently absorbed with his own thoughts, the thoughts he was trying to find words to express.
Here they encountered two men, who were among the greatest of the western pioneers, and were destined to leave their names in historic association with the early settlement of Kentucky, James Harrod and Michael Stoner, a German, both of whom had descended the Ohio from Fort Pitt.
Then he would wind the clock. He would Rosalind stirred uneasily. Life in the figure of Melville Stoner had her, it gripped her tightly. She could not escape. He would come into her bedroom and invade her secret thoughts. There was no escape for her. She imagined his mocking laughter ringing through the silent house, the sound rising above the dreadful commonplace sounds of everyday life there.
Curiosity was the order of the day: everybody present of any intelligent perception wanted to know what the presence of Cotherstone, one of the two men accused of the murder of Stoner, signified. But it was some little time before any curiosity was satisfied.
Of the men engaged in this shearing business, none, perhaps, had gathered more wool in the same length of time than the two members of the firm of McWade & Stoner. Mr. Billy McWade, junior partner, was a man of wide experience and some accomplishments, but until his arrival at Wichita Falls he had never made a conspicuous success of any business enterprise.
The commercial traveller's homely face grew grave, and he shook his head with an unmistakable gesture. "No, Stoner," he said. "None o' that! Play straight, my lad! No hush-money transactions. Keep to the law, Stoner, keep to the law! Besides, there's others than you can find all this out. What you want to do is to get in first. See Tallington as soon as you get back."
I hope I am not narrow-minded, but I feel that all my finer instincts rebel at the thought of " "Miss Stoner, if you please, we will drop the subject. Nothing can be gained by carrying it further." This came from Miss Cresswell. She spoke quietly but her manner and voice was that of one who expected to have her suggestions followed. Landis tilted her head a little higher, but her face flushed.
Poor Abe was under conviction of sin; he was tasting the wormwood of a guilty conscience, than which nothing is more dreadful, and nothing is more hopeful, because it is the bitter that oft worketh itself sweet; it was so with Abe. While he was in this state of mind, the Rev. David Stoner came to preach in the Wesleyan Chapel at Almondbury.
Boone come 'long agin, an' we axed him whar to settle you know, he'd roamed all ovah these parts, an' knowed all the best places. He told us to come out to this redge whut sep'rates the waters o' Hinkson an' Stoner Cricks; an' he named it Cane Redge, fur, ez he said, the biggest cane an' the biggest sugar-trees in Kaintuck growed on it. So we come; an' a rough-an'-tumble life it wuz at fust."
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