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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Lady Betty, is that you?" asked Mr. Brett's voice. "Yes," I answered, pushing up the frame with the mosquito netting, and leaning over the window sill. "I've got something for you. Have you a box or basket you can let down with string, if I toss a ball of it up to you?" "There's a small waste-paper basket," I said, quite excited. He tossed, and I caught Stan taught me how, long ago.
"I do not know how it is," went on Mr. Winter, "but whenever I happen to meet you, Mr. Brett, in the course of an inquiry, I always start by being very angry with you." "Why?" There was an amused twinkle in Brett's eyes, which might have warned the other of a possible pitfall. "Because you treat me as if I were a precocious youth.
I have no wish to take his place in Scotland " "Then what are you doing in Mr. Brett's office?" asked Percival, bluntly. For the first time Dino showed some embarrassment. "I have been to blame," he said, hanging his head. "I was forced into this position by others; and I had not the strength to free myself. But I will not wrong Brian any longer."
It was not until the next day it was ascertained that an attempt had been made to blow in Reginald Brett's front door, which was a few houses off, and that it had been perpetrated by some Fenians, whose friends had been awarded penal servitude for life for a similar outrage with dynamite. Why their anger was directed against Mr.
He was dressed something like those splendid cowboys they took me to see at Earlscourt when I was a little girl, and the face was Mr. Brett's. It was so handsome and dashing I could hardly stop staring at it while I washed off the dust of motoring. Evidently the photograph in its frame has been on the wall a long time.
'I knew young Mr Simon too. A slight hesitation, and then: 'Of course! Another hesitation. 'Why? 'Nothing, said Mr Brindley. 'Only he's dead. 'You don't mean to say he's dead? she exclaimed. 'Day before yesterday, in Italy, said Mr Brindley ruthlessly. Miss Annie Brett's manner certainly changed. It seemed almost to become natural and unecstatic.
So I was glad I remembered to speak of it, and catching Mr. Brett's eyes I saw such a twinkling smile in them that I hurried to look away, or I should have laughed and spoiled everything. There couldn't be a greater contrast between two men than between the Reverend Jonas Panter and the great Whit Walker of the Emporium at Hermann's Corners. We drove to Mr.
The commercial traveller was inept enough to offer a jocular reply, and then he found himself involved in the morass of 'the whole question'. He, and we also, were obliged to hear in immense detail Miss Annie Brett's complete notions of the movement for the abolition of barmaids. The subject was heavy on her mind, and she lifted it off.
But if you'll wait six months, I'll give you my personal guarantee that the money shall be paid." Brett's eyes narrowed again in sudden concentration. "Your personal guarantee?" "Yes, mine. If you'll wait six months or even three" urgently. "Oh, Brett, you will wait?" "'Even three," he repeated thoughtfully. Suddenly he threw up his head and laughed. "I see it it's as clear as daylight!
Brett's eager description was cut short by the appearance of a new character. Through a narrow door leading into the bar came a handsome dark-eyed woman, aged perhaps twenty-five, well dressed, shapely, and carrying herself with the easy grace of a born Parisienne. Her hair was jet black. Her large dark eyes were recessed beneath arched and strongly pencilled eyebrows.
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