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Updated: May 26, 2025
He was rolling his pencil up to the top of his blotting-pad, and allowing it to come down again in accordance with the rules of gravity. This was Mr. Bodery's habit when thoughtful; and after all, there was no great harm in it. Mr. Bodery was editor and proprietor of the Beacon.
He did everything that could be done, but of course it was of no avail. By Mr. Bodery's advice everything was kept secret. There was nothing in the newspapers." She stopped suddenly, and there was a silence in the room. He was looking at her curiously, still ignoring that little left hand. Only one word of her speech seemed to have attached itself to his understanding. "Fred?" he said.
"But you," he persisted, "you, yourself what did you think?" "I do not know," she answered, with painful hesitation. "I don't think I thought at all." "Then what did you do, Hilda?" "I oh, we searched. We telegraphed for Mr. Bodery, who came down at once. Then Fred rode over, and placed himself at Mr. Bodery's disposal. First he went to Paris, then to Brest.
Bodery's lips than a tall, dark form slid into the room. So noiseless and rapid were this gentleman's movements that there is no other word with which to express his mode of progression. He made a low bow, and shot up erect again with startling rapidity.
Sidney lighted Mr. Bodery's candle and shook hands. "By the way," said the editor, turning back and speaking more lightly, "if any one should inquire your mother or one of your sisters you can say that I am not in the least anxious about Vellacott. Good night." It was quite early the next morning when the Vicomte d'Audierne left his room.
"Yes," answered Christian, still holding her hand. "I have just come down." As usual the day's pleasure was all prearranged. A groom rode to the station at Christian's request with a large envelope on which was printed Mr. Bodery's name and address.
She handed him the Times enveloped in a yellow wrapper, upon which was printed her brother's name and address. "Ah," he said lightly, "the Times estimable, but just a trifle opaque. Is that all?" His eyes were fixed upon two packets she held in her hand. "These are Mr. Bodery's," she replied, looking at him with some concentration. "And what newspaper does Mr.
Bodery's "Tell him I'm engaged" with a little nod of mutual understanding which was intensely comprehensive. On this occasion, his manner said, "Have him in have him in, my boy, and you will find it worth your while'" "Show him in," said Mr. Bodery. The nameless gentleman must have been at the door upon the boy's heels, for no sooner had the words left Mr.
This gentleman wishes to withdraw, for correction, an article he has sent to you. He states that he will re-write the article, with certain alterations, in time for next week's issue." Mr. Bodery's face was pleasantly illegible. "May I see the telegram?" he asked politely. "Certainly!" The stranger produced and handed to the editor a pink paper covered with faint black writing.
He must perforce take up his pen again and write against himself. He may be inditing history, and his words may be forgotten in twelve hours. There is no time for deep thought, even if such were required. He who writes for cursory reading is wise if he writes cursorily. Mr. Bodery's communication in no manner disturbed Christian.
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