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Updated: May 15, 2025
He laughed heartily, then paused to stand staring down into the jewelled shade of his electric drop-light as if in its softly blending colourings he saw the outlines of a new future for "the boy." "I wonder what Cal will say to losing his literary assistant," he mused, smiling to himself.
There always seemed something frozen about this gray-haired, immobile-faced woman with her stern manner and steely eyes. Sometimes Berta thought of her as like a dying fire that smoldered under smothering ashes. Berta turned the knob gently and entered. A faint rosy glow from the lowered drop-light shone on the piles of papers and scattered books on the library table.
"A beautiful woman is never especially clever," Rochester remarked. Harleston blew a smoke ring at the big drop-light on the table and watched it swirl under the cardinal shade. "The cleverest woman I know is also the most beautiful," he replied. "Yes, I can name her offhand.
In two minutes they were downstairs and at the far end of a long corridor which led to the rooms in a wing of the big house occupied by the Stephen Grays. Richard was led through a pleasant living-room where a maid was reading a book under the drop-light. She rose at their appearance and Stephen nodded an "All right" to her.
"I'll do my hurrahing when the returns are in," said Bowers, and stripping to his shirt sleeves he took his station under a drop-light and made ready to figure the local result. But the local returns were tardy. It developed early that throughout the Demijohn split tickets had prevailed to an unprecedented extent.
Gardner presented her compliments to Mr. Duncan, and wished it to be said that she would communicate with him by letter; and that, in the meantime, there existed no cause whatever, for anxiety on his part. On Sunday evening Patricia Langdon was alone in the library of her home, occupying her favorite corner beneath the drop-light.
I did not dare to snap on my light and look at myself. I put my hands to my hair to feel if it was still snug; then I went. Hepatica had mercifully turned off all the lights but the rose-shaded drop-light on the reading-table and two of the electric candles in the dining-room. It was a relief to feel the glare gone. The air from the window had freshened me.
The drop-light with the scarlet shade blazed behind her. I noticed that to-night, as on that other night, the baby was not with her; and I wondered why. She stood alone. She moved up and down the room; she had a weary step. Her dress, I saw, was black, dead black. Her white hands, clasped before her, shone with startling brilliancy upon the sombre stuff she wore.
They came all right, they were punctual, but something I felt sure was wrong. Mrs. Fleming would not have missed a mail for anything in the world every hour's delay wore upon her. She would play her game of solitaire, long after bedtime, at that desk by the drop-light. It seemed she could not read; nothing held her. She was irritable with Fleming, and then she would pet him piteously to make up.
And you might put that tray out of the way somewhere and shove the drop-light a bit nearer. That's better. I'll be all right now; you run along." "Run along where?" asked Paul. "Well, I thought maybe you were going out or somewhere." Paul's face expressed astonishment. He took up a book and settled himself firmly in the wicker rocking-chair. "No," he said, "I'm not going anywhere."
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