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Updated: July 5, 2025
At four o'clock in the afternoon Rasputin called me, and handing me an envelope which seemed to contain some small object a lady's silver powder-puff case I afterwards knew it to be said: "Féodor, I want you to go to the booking-office of the Finnish station at the departure of the train for Helsingfors at five-thirty. There you will meet a fair-haired young man who knows you by sight.
You could go to a girl at the pigeon-hole of a booking-office in France, demand a ticket for a place which by all the signs might then have fallen behind the van of the German Army, and she would hand the ticket to you as though she had never heard of the War.
Thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his thin black overcoat, he plunged into that narrow glowing tunnel of the station booking-office, which led back to the crowded streets. But by the time he reached home his anger had evaporated; he felt nothing but utter lassitude. It was nine o'clock, and the maids had cleared the dining table. In despair Noel had gone up to her room.
Clad for a long railway journey on a hot day; a grey figure of fluent lines, of composedly decisive movements; a little felt hat close-fitting to the spirited head, leaving full and frank the soft rounded face, with its quietly observant eyes, its lips of contained humour Irene Derwent stepped from a cab at Euston Station and went forward into the booking-office.
I was given interesting work and made comfortable. No despatch rider could wish for more. Not long after I had returned from the 15th Brigade, the Germans attacked and broke through. They had been heavily reinforced and our tentative offensive had been replaced by a stern and anxious defensive. Now the Signal Office was established in the booking-office of Beuvry Station.
In three minutes more we should be at Purleybridge. And in three minutes more, we were at Purleybridge the only passengers but one who arrived at the station that night. A servant was waiting for me, and I followed him through the booking-office to the carriage destined to bear me to The Swanspond, as my friend Colonel Cathcart's house was called.
"Can't say," returned the other. "I don't want to see him; but I suppose we must go. Let's hunt up Rosher." A few minutes before five, the three boys entered the booking-office at the railway station. "I wonder which platform it is!" said Jack. "Hallo! there's Raymond." The gentleman in question came forward, flourishing his silver-mounted cane. "Well, my dear nephews," he cried, laughing.
Multicolored pamphlets detailing the local attractions are mailed to the four corners of the earth, and brilliant chromos of the village, with groups of peasants in the foreground, wearing picturesque costumes, are posted in every available railway station and booking-office, regardless of the fact that no costumes have been known in the neighborhood for half a century, except those provided by the hotel proprietors for their housemaids.
They passed out again by the booking-office. There was the old lady still at the pigeon-hole, trying to persuade the much-enduring clerk to restore a lucky sixpence she had given him by mistake, and was quite unable to describe. Mr.
When buying his ticket he had let fall a guarded word or two about the nature of his errand, and from the booking-office the news had flown up and down both sides of the station, round the yard, and even into the signal cabins. "See Mr. Dale?" "Mr. Dale!" "There's Mr. Dale, going to London for an interview with the Postmaster-General." Mr.
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