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Updated: June 17, 2025
He had long ago made up his mind that Lora Delane Porter, though an entertaining woman and, on the whole, more worth while than a moving-picture show, was quite mad; but, he felt, even lunatics ought to realize that there is a limit to what they may say. He moaned protestingly, and rashly, for he drew the speaker's attention upon himself. "This person," went on Mrs.
I did not inquire. It did not interest me. My name is Mrs. Lora Delane Porter. This man of yours has just run into my automobile." "I beg your pardon?" "I cannot put it more lucidly. I was driving along the street when this weak-minded person flung himself in front of my car. He is out there now. Kindly come and help him in." "Is he hurt?" "More frightened than hurt. I have examined him.
I was out of spirits, and thought of another excuse; but she proposed to take me and Betty Delane to the houses of several people of fashion who saw masks. We went to a great number, and were a tolerable, nay, a much-admired, group.
A masculine analogue to this amiable compliment may be cited from the table-talk of Lord Granville certainly not an unkindly man to whom the late Mr. Delane had been complaining of the difficulty of finding a suitable wedding-present for a young lady of the house of Rothschild. "It would be absurd to give a Rothschild a costly gift.
Je sais qu'il n'est pas permis de s'enquerir du nom de ceux qui ecrivent dans la presse anglaise. Plein du bon souvenir de votre visite d'hier, je vous renouvelle ici, cher Monsieur Reeve, l'assurance de mes bien affectueux sentiments. From Mr. Delane June 13th. I return the Duke's letter with many thanks. The story of the Brazilian article is curious enough to be worth telling.
He looked positively haggard. Dressing with unwonted haste, he inquired for Ruth, and was told that a telephone message had come from her late the previous evening to say that she was spending the night at the apartment of Mrs. Lora Delane Porter. The hated name increased Bailey's indignation. He held Mrs. Porter responsible for the whole trouble.
What was to be done? She saw that it was not only her son that was to blame that it was the whole system of society; and so she despatched a letter to Mr. Delane, the editor of The Times, asking him if he would "frequently WRITE articles pointing out the IMMENSE danger and evil of the wretched frivolity and levity of the views and lives of the Higher Classes." And five years later Mr.
"I wanted to tell you," said Miss Henderson calmly "because I'm sure you're a nice fellow, and don't want to hurt anybody's feelings why I asked you to hold your tongue about Mrs. Delane. In the first place, you're quite mistaken about myself. I was never at Mr. Tanner's farm never in that part of Canada; and the person you saw there Mrs.
He saw from the badge on the man's shoulder that he belonged to one of the Canadian Forestry Corps in the district, and was at once on his guard. They started in silence, till Delane, pulling his mind back with a jerk, asked his companion if he was going to Ipscombe. "No only to Great End Farm." Darkness hid the sudden change in Delane's countenance. "You know some one there?"
Ah but then? Beyond that imagined scene, which rose, as though it were staged, before her, Rachel's shrinking eyes, in the windy darkness, seemed to be penetrating to another a phantom scene in a dim distance drawn not from the future, but the past. Two figures moved in it. One was herself. The other was not Roger Delane. The brown owl seemed to be shrieking just outside her window.
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