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Updated: June 6, 2025
We soon learnt to love the town and all it contained, and we dare not say that our love has grown cold even now. The wedding bells have already rung for the regiment once at Sawbridgeworth, when Lieut. R.C.L. Mould married Miss Barrett, and we do not know that they may not ring again for a similar reason. In Sawbridgeworth, our vigorous adjutant, Captain W.T. Bromfield, was at his best.
But he's gettin' along in years, Bromfield. It don't look hardly right to me for you to step in and throw him out. What do you think about it, yourself?" The clubman flushed with anger. "I think that it's damned impertinent of you to come here meddling in my business. I might have expected it. You've always been an impertinent meddler."
"It's perfectly heart-breaking, as you'll imagine from the name; but there's such a dear old-fashioned hero and heroine in it, who keep dying for each other all the way through, and making the most wildly satisfactory and unnecessary sacrifices for each other. You feel as if you'd done them yourself." "Ah, that's the secret of its success," said Bromfield Corey.
It was expected that the latter would be released immediately. He was. That evening he dined at the home of the Whitfords. The mine owner had wanted to go on the bond of Bromfield, but his offer had been rejected. "We'll hear what the coroner's jury has to say," the man behind the desk at headquarters had decided. "It'll not hurt him to rest a day or two in the cooler."
"I'm all right," she told him. Clay withdrew his arm. "I'd report that fellow if I had his number," he said. "You stick to yore saddle fine. You're one straight-up rider." "I'll ask Mr. Bromfield to give you fifty dollars' again," she laughed nervously. That word again stuck in his consciousness. "You've known me all along," he charged.
He was standing a step or two below her, a graceful, well-groomed figure of ease, an altogether desirable catch in the matrimonial market. His dark hair, parted in the middle, was beginning to thin, and tiny crow's-feet radiated from the eyes, but he retained the light, slim figure of youth. It ought not to be hard to love Clarendon Bromfield, his fiancée reflected.
Their devotion to Mrs. Frobisher and her sister heightened the curiosity of such people as noticed it, but it would be wrong to say that it moved any in that self-limited company with a strong wish to know the ladies. The time comes to every man, no matter how great a power he may be in society, when the general social opinion retires him for senility, and this time had come for Bromfield Corey.
Bromfield was nowhere to be seen, but an open door to the left showed that he had found at least a temporary escape. A policeman came forward and stooped over the figure of the prostrate man. "Some one's croaked a guy," he said. Gorilla Dave spoke up quickly. "This fellow did it. With a chair. I seen him." There was a moment before Lindsay answered quietly. "He shot twice.
It was a quarter of an hour later when he returned. Beatrice and her father were not to be seen. From back of the partition came an eager, vibrant voice. "Is that you, Mr. Muldoon? Come here quick. We've found one of the bullets in the wall." The policeman passed out of the door through which Bromfield had made his escape and found another small door opening from the passage.
It was explicitly stated. You promised. And all the time you were planning murder. I'll tell all I know. By God, I will." "Go easy, Mr. Bromfield," snarled Jerry. "If you do, where do ye think you'll get off at?" "I'll go to the police and tell them your hired gunman was shooting at us." "Will you now? An' I'll have plenty of good witnesses to swear he wasn't." Durand bared his teeth in a threat.
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