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Updated: May 14, 2025
In the end, when he was about to give the whole affair up for the present, and lose a night's sleep over it later, he had an inspiration, and he acted upon it at once. He perceived that he owed no formal response to the sentimental insincerities of Mrs. Vostrand's letter, and he decided to write to Durgin himself, and to put the case altogether in his hands.
I will only add, and I will give the last word in your defence, you alone know what you are." As soon as Westover had posted his letter he began to blame himself for it. He saw that the right and manly thing would have been to write to Mrs. Vostrand, and tell her frankly what he thought of Durgin.
"I'll go and see her," said Cynthia. "I don't believe she's strong enough for a waitress, and I have got to tell her so." "Well," returned Mrs. Durgin, glumly, after a moment's reflection, "I shouldn't want you should hurry her. Wait till she's out of bed, and give her another chance." "All right."
There was nothing she could do in such a place, and he felt there was much she should be spared. Pike, young Barnes, and Foster Durgin remained, the two former as witnesses of what had occurred, Durgin by Garrison's request. All others were presently closed out of the office, and the body of Wicks was removed.
Durgin held her peace in bewilderment; she stared at her son with dazed eyes, under the spectacles lifted above her forehead. She felt a change of mood in his unchanged tone of defiance, and she met him half-way. "I tell you I take back what I called Cynthia, and I told you so. But but I didn't ever expect you to marry her." "Why didn't you? There isn't one of the summer folks to compare with her.
It was called Lion's Head House now, as he read on the side of the mountain-wagon which he saw waiting at the platform, and he knew at a glance that it was Jeff Durgin who was coming forward to meet him and take his hand-bag. The boy had been the prophecy of the man in even a disappointing degree.
Shackford turned, and with the absorbed air of a naturalist studying some abnormal bug gazed over the steel bow of his spectacles at Durgin. "Skit!" Durgin hastily retreated. "There's a poor lawyer saved," muttered the old man, taking down his overcoat from a peg behind the door, and snapping off a shred of lint on the collar with his lean forefinger.
She hung her head and turned her face away. But Mrs. Durgin understood. "You be'n expectin' it all along, then." "I guess so." "I presume," said the elder woman, "that he's talked to you about it. He never tells me much. I don't see why you should want to go. What's it like?" "Oh, I don't know. But it's the day the graduating class have to themselves, and all their friends come."
It was in Westover's mind to say that he wished the Whitwells had never had anything to do with Durgin after his mother's death. He had felt it a want of delicacy in them that they had been willing to stay on in his employ, and his ideal of Cynthia had suffered a kind of wound from what must have been her decision in the matter.
Her comedy was delicious to him. He had never found, anybody so amusing; he almost respected her for it. "If that is your opinion of me, Mr. Durgin," she said, very gravely, "I am sorry. May I remark that I don't see why you come, then?" "I can tell you," said Jeff, and he advanced upon her where she sat so abruptly that she started and shrank back in her chair.
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