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Updated: July 12, 2025
"I don't know what to say." "I'll go with you, Miss Doane." "Well " and Drusilla was a little pacified "well, I'll go once and see what it's like. I'll do anything once, but I won't promise to do it much." "Never mind; you must return the first calls. I'll come for you to-morrow and we'll go. You have cards I had them made for you; and I'll bring my new cardcase.
Did they require a bruiser to drive the gray car? "Know anything about motors?" "Not the first principles, even." Thompson declared himself frankly. He did possess a little such knowledge, but held a little knowledge to be a dangerous admission. "So much the better," the stout man commented. He fished out a cardcase, and handed his card to Thompson.
An examination of his pocketbook and cardcase shows beyond any question that the deceased is none other than Sir Francis Norton, of Deane Park, who has only within the last year come into the baronetcy. The accident is made the more deplorable as the deceased, who was only just of age, was on the eve of being married to a young lady belonging to one of the oldest families in the South.
Elinor rose, and going to her bag that was still dangling from the chair back where she had flung it in her hurried preparation for dinner, took out a cardcase, and drawing forth three square bits of gray cardboard, handed them to Patricia. "'An Arabian Nights Entertainment," read Patricia, mumbling in her haste.
"Of course he will say so before them," thought the Duchess, aloud, she says tapping him on the arm with her cardcase, "Come to my box at the Theatre to-night, I want to consult you about something, since dear Harold died," and a corner of her handkerchief went to her eyes, "I often feel so alone." "Thanks, I shall wait upon you as early as possible; to-night I go to the Quirinal."
Barrett said; "but you will write to me often; won't you, Phebe?" "If I have anything to tell," she answered; "but I never could write letters, you know." "You could once." "How do you know?" For his only answer, he opened his cardcase and took out a folded scrap of paper. "How about this?" he asked, as he handed it to her. She took it curiously and unfolded it.
"Agnes," said I, "will you put back your hood and tell me what it all means?" The hood dropped noiselessly, and I was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearing the dress in which I had last seen her alive; carried the same tiny handkerchief in her right hand; and the same cardcase in her left. "Agnes," I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me what it all means." Mrs.
As I rang the first doorbell, another visitor came up the steps, a beautiful old lady in widow's dress, a cardcase in her hand. "Have you rung, sir?" said she, in a manner at once gentle and voluminous. "Yes, madam." Nevertheless she pulled it again. "It doesn't always ring," she explained, "unless one is accustomed to it, which you are not."
"That lets us out!" he said. After further examination, they burned the cardcase and its contents, all but the bills, and likewise the picture of a little girl in the locket. Then Duane took the watch and trinkets downstairs, and came back with sixteen dollars. "The old scoundrel said the case was filled," he said. "It's a lie, but he knows I want the money."
Cable at home?" asked Mr. Bansemer, making no effort to find his cardcase. "Yes, sir," responded the servant after a moment's hesitation. Bansemer passed through the vestibule. "Say Mr. Bansemer, if you please." He removed his coat and was standing comfortably in front of the blazing logs in the library when she came down.
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