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Updated: June 28, 2025
"I need thy condor's vision now as never before. Take the swift, small sailboat, and flares; follow the sloop as long as thy eyes can pick her out; we shall follow thy flares in the schooner until we overtake thee. Haste now; Rufe has grace enough!" Milo stayed only to get his flare-powder and tinder-box, then disappeared down the cliff.
"They had to chuck some water on Condor's face to get him round, for the force with which he struck the deck stunned him. When he was helped to his feet, the young 'un went up to him and held out his hand. 'I hope there will be no more ill-feeling between us, Condor, he said. 'You have made a bad mistake, and have had to pay for it.
One of the misterios, whom from his remarkable head-dress a helmet made of a condor's skull I took to be a cacique, after greeting the priest, entered into conversation with him, the purport of which I had no difficulty in guessing, for the Indian, laughing loudly, turned to his companions and said something that appeared greatly to amuse them.
One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms!
"Well," Claire smiled, "I wasn't what you would call one of the head-liners. I played Mrs. Condor's accompaniments." "That accounts for it ... my not knowing, I mean. I dare say your mother is better, otherwise you wouldn't be here." Claire met her aunt's thrust calmly. "No, mother is worse, if anything. As a matter of fact, I'm here...."
The opening bars almost startled her. She felt a hush fall over the noisy room. Her fingers stumbled she caught the melody again with staggering desperation. Mrs. Condor was singing.... The room faded; even the sound of Mrs. Condor's voice became remote. Claire had a desire to laugh. All manner of strange, disconnected thoughts ran through her head.
It struck him as he pondered all these matters how strange it was to find him concerned about these feminine adjustments he who had always stared down upon trivial circumstances with cold scorn. He arrived at Lily Condor's apartments almost upon the lady's heels.
One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms!
Moreover, these Condor's I find are very rare to be met with; and when they are, they often appear single or but a few. Now Homer's, and the Cranes of the Ancients, are always represented in Flocks.
Looking back, Stillman marveled at the indiscretion he had committed when he handed over not only his reserve, but Claire Robson's reputation into the safekeeping of Lily Condor. Had he ever had the simplicity to imagine that a woman of Mrs. Condor's stamp would constitute herself a safe-deposit vault for hoarding secrets without exacting a price?
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