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I must arrange matters for you, and I think you will agree, upon reflection, that the first step must be to give up whatever we can." "But, Uncle " I tried to speak calmly, to show him the situation "Mrs. Whitney is a Van Dam, and they befriended me when why, they would never forgive me; it would be ruin.
As we went out we told the landlord nothing either of the old fellow's vagaries or of his sleep, but we went out and reached the town of Whitney, and when we had stayed there a couple of hours or so we went out southward to the station and waited there for the train which should take us back to Oxford. While we were waiting there in the station two farmers were talking together.
The latter's white face and agitated manner indicated that he was the bearer of portentous news. Miller made a hasty step in his direction. "Kathleen is she ill?" he asked. The chauffeur looked to see that the bedroom door was securely fastened before he answered. "It isn't Miss Kathleen," he answered cautiously. "Mr. Whitney has had a stroke." "What?" Miller recoiled. "When?"
I wondered whether it were possible that Lockwood, now that Mendoza was out of the way, could desire to remove Whitney, the sole remaining impediment to possessing the whole of the treasure as well as Inez? Then there were the Senora and Alfonso, the one with a deep race and family grievance, the other a rejected suitor. What might not they do with some weird South American poison?
The Marlboroughs since have been almost too poor to keep up this magnificent estate in its proper style, for the family of Spencer-Churchill, which now holds the title, unlike most of the other great English houses, has not been blessed with a princely private fortune. Not far from Woodstock is Minster Lovel, near the village of Whitney.
I called at Bard's window and told him that the stars were falling, but he refused to get up, thinking it a joke. The butcher of the town, Abijah Whitney, came out to commence preparations for his morning rounds, but conceiving that the day of judgment had come, he returned into the house and gave up business for the day. In the year 1901, I know of one other person only, Mrs.
One day, while she was entertaining some planters, they began to talk about the raising of cotton. One of her guests said that it did not pay well because so much time was needed to separate the seeds from the fibre. He added that if a way could be found to do this more quickly the profits would be far greater. "Gentlemen," said Mrs. Greene, "tell this to my young friend, Mr. Whitney.
Martin Whitney whose pictures the papers were always publishing on the slightest excuse wasn't likely to be found riding in street-cars, in the first place, and the improbability reached a climax during a furious storm like that of last night, when, if ever during the year, the real Rodney Aldrich would be saying, "Home, James," to a liveried chauffeur, and sinking back luxuriously among the whip-cord cushions of a palatial limousine.
It was not quite ten when Delia, Hanny, and Ben made their adieus to the hostess, who stooped and kissed Hanny for "old remembrance' sake," she said. Mr. Whitney was going down with some of the older men. Ben saw his little sister safe in Stephen's hands, and then went on with Delia. "I've had such a splendid time!" exclaimed Hanny. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
The Doctor had been making out bills, and feeling quite encouraged, perhaps lighter-hearted than he would when he had waited a year for the payment of some of them. "Joe," began his brother, abruptly, "what do you suppose makes mother so bitter about Delia Whitney?" "Bitter?" repeated Joe, in the tone of indecision people often use when a proposition or question takes them by surprise. "Yes.
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