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And his captors read that wild glance directly, and the doctor whipped one chair away, while Mrs. Archbold, with more tact, sat quietly down on the other. They all three blew their whistles shrilly.
Poor Alfred took all the credit of this performance; but in fact, when the Archbold invited him to bear a hand, he showed the white feather. "I won't touch the blackguardesses," said he, haughtily turning it off on the score of contempt. "You give it them! Again, again! Brava!" Mosaic retribution completed, Mrs.
"Oh, thank you, sir," said she; "will you be so kind as to tell Mrs. Archbold I have it." And with this they parted, and the porter opened the gate to her, and she got into her hired cab. She leaned her head back, and, as usual was lost in the sorrowful thoughts of what had been, and what now was. Poor wife, each visit to Drayton House opened her wound afresh.
"Brown," said Mrs. Archbold, "if Dr. Bailey prescribes again, let me know. He shan't square this patient with his certificates, whilst I am here." This was a shrewd, but uncharitable, speech of hers. Dr. Bailey was not such a villain as that. He was a less depraved, and more dangerous animal: he was a fool.
The Eastern dailies started in bravely enough, but soon cut down their reports until they became so meagre and inadequate as to cause people in the East to surmise that some influence hostile to the prosecution had poisoned the sources of their information. The Archbold letters, given to the press by Mr. Hearst in the late campaign, are further examples of commercialism in journalism.
He looked very pale and peaceful. There was a cut on his forehead due to Rooke's knuckles. Mrs. Archbold looked down, and the young figure and haughty face seemed so unresisting and peaceful sad, she half relented, and shed some bitter tears. That did not, however, prevent her setting her female spies to watch him more closely than ever.
Alfred was accordingly sent for, and asked with an indifferent air how he was. He said he was very well in health, but in sore distress of mind at his letters to the Commissioners being intercepted by Mrs. Archbold or Dr. Wolf. Mrs. Archbold smiled pityingly. Mr. Bartlett caught her glance, and concluded this was one of the patient's delusions.
Archbold earnestly, "when, if you only knew it, you have wings. And what are the wings of the soul? The wings of the soul are aspiration. Oh, that we would spread them and fly to the heights our longing eyes behold, the heights we dream of when we cannot see them, the heights we foolishly and mistakenly expect to climb some day."
"Then it was the one who was in such danger with my husband last night?" "Yes," said Mrs. Archbold off her guard. It had not occurred to her that this handsome, fashionably-dressed young gentleman, was the fireman of last night. She saw her mistake, though, the moment he said bluntly, "Why, you told my mother it was an attendant." "Did I, madam?" asked Mrs.
Archbold, the vice-president of the company, testified that he told Bliss, the Republican treasurer, "We do not want to make this contribution unless it is thoroughly acceptable and will be thoroughly appreciated by Mr. Roosevelt"; and that Bliss "smilingly said we need have no possible apprehension on that score."
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