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Updated: June 13, 2025
To this end we ask the loyal women of the nation to meet in the Church of the Puritans, New York, on Thursday, the 14th of May next. Let the women of every State be largely represented both in person and by letter. On behalf of the Woman's Central Committee, An immense audience, mostly women, assembled in Dr. Cheever's famous church.
"So I hear." "You had fair warning, then, from your woman?" "Which one?" said Cheever, with his irresistible impudence. That was the fulminate that exploded Dyckman's wrath. "You blackguard!" he roared, and plunged. His left hand was out and open, his great right fist back. As he closed, it flashed past him and drove into the spot where Cheever's face was smirking. But the face was gone.
Visited the grave of Eliza W. Farnham.... Went over to New Jersey to confer with Lucy Stone and Antoinette Blackwell.... Called at Dr. Cheever's, and also had an interview with Robert Dale Owen.... Went to Worcester to see Abby Kelly Foster and from there to Boston.... Found Dr. Harriot K. Hunt ready for woman suffrage work. Took dinner at Garrison's.
He outlined the various ways of establishing Cheever's guilt and promised that the agency would keep him shadowed and make a record of all his hours. "It'll take some time to get the goods on 'em good," he explained, "but there's ways we got. When we learn what we got to know we'll arrange it and tip you off.
He poured the Chablis on the back of Cheever's hand and neither noticed it till Charity laughed hysterically and drove the sword a little deeper: "Is she still alive? Have you seen her?" Cheever glared at her, breathed hard, swore at the butler, wiped his hand on his napkin, gnawed his lips, twisted his mustache, threw down the napkin, rose, and left the table.
A sullen, servile voice answered: "It ain't me's the fool, and as for crazy her wantin' me to bring home what they ain't in no market. How'm I goin' to git what ain't to be got, I asts you. This here war is stoppin' ev'y kind of food." Cheever's answer was characteristic. He didn't believe in servants' rights. "Get out. If you're impudent again I'll throw you out, and your baggage after you."
Finally Cheever got to him with a sledge-hammer smash in the groin. It hurled Dyckman against and along the big table, just as he put home one magnificent, majestic, mellifluous swinge with all his body in it. It planted an earthquake under Cheever's ear. Dyckman saw him go backward across a chair and spinning over it and with it and under it to the floor.
Kedzie's first thought was of Peter Cheever's new wife, who had been taken up by a certain set of those whom one may call loose-principled or divinely tolerant, as one's own prejudices direct. Kedzie could not yet afford to be so forgiving. She flared up. "Mrs. Cheever! That Zada thing going to call on me? How dare she!" "Of course not." "Oh, the other one, then?" "Yes." "The abandoned one?"
A similar forgery was committed in a recent London edition of Dr. Cheever's Hill Difficulty. The Tractarians, doubtless, commit these scandalous outrages upon the Fathers, and all other writers, and deserve the contempt of every honest, upright mind. Vol. i., p. 473. Vol. i., p. 480.
She tried to look surprised at the unimaginable suggestion of Cheever's being in her environs. She succeeded as well as Dyckman did in pretending that his errand was trivial. "Er yes, I imagined you might happen to know where I could find him. I have a little business with him." Zada thought to crush him with a condescension a manicurial sarcasm: "Have you been to the gentleman's home?"
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