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She went up to the drawing-room, and there, seated at her writing-table with his back turned towards her, was Lory de Vasselot. All the brightness had gone from his uniform. He turned as she entered the room. "Mon Dieu!" she said, "what is it?" "What is what?" he answered gravely. "Why, your face," said the baroness. "Look look at it!"
At a wayside restaurant I partook of an omelette and some wine, and was charged for the idyllic repast a thaler and a half. Not until eleven o'clock did I return home to find a summons awaiting me from the General. Our party occupied two suites in the hotel; each of which contained two rooms. It was here that he was awaiting me as he stood posed in a majestic attitude beside his writing-table.
"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before about a quarter of an hour, she says." "Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and what does she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything in the drawers.
I shall not be late," he added; "I think I may venture out alone on this occasion without personal danger." Nayland Smith went upstairs to dress, leaving me seated at my writing-table deep in thought. My notes upon the renewed activity of Dr.
At length a faint smile played about his mouth, and muttering to himself, "I will!" he seated himself at the writing-table, rapidly penned a short note, addressed it, and then sought his pillow in the tranquil frame of mind that befits a man who has planned a pleasant surprise for his fellow-creatures. When his valet brought him his cup of tea the next morning at nine, Mr.
Here I am now, dear Maria, in my own house and home, at my own writing-table, and with my own Bear. And who then is Bear? no doubt you ask. Who else should he be but my own husband? I call him Bear because it so happens. I am seated at the window. The sun is setting. Two swans are swimming in the lake, and furrow its clear mirror.
The word "Journal" was printed on it in gold letters, and there was fitted to the covers a bright brass lock and key. A second journal, exactly similar in every respect to the first, was placed on the writing-table at my end of the room. I opened my book. The sight of the blank leaves irritated me; they were so smooth, so spotless, so entirely ready to do their duty.
He knew she was coming, and flushed with pleasure when he met her at the door. Ideala was not nervous; it all seemed a matter of course to her now. The books he had got for her from the library were where she had left them. He placed a chair for her beside his writing-table, and then went on with his own work.
It was one of those mean feminine thrusts to parry which is to acknowledge, to ignore is to admit fear. "Has he sent them on to you?" she asked after a little pause, resisting only by a great effort the temptation to look towards the writing-table. "Yes," was the reply. "It appears that they have been in his possession for some time. He kept them back for some reason I cannot think why."
That's funny," said Vyse, with a damp forehead. "Yes, it's funny; it's funny," said Betton. He leaned back, his hands in his pockets, staring up at the ceiling, and noticing a crack in the cornice. Vyse, at the corner of the writing-table, waited. "Shall I get to work?" he began, after a silence measurable by minutes. Betton's gaze descended from the cornice.
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