Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 9, 2025
Elliston was a great favorite, and she had as many good things to tell of him as Elia ever had. One autumn afternoon she related all the circumstances attending the "first play" she ever saw, which, by the way, was a tragedy enacted in a barn somewhere in the little town of Alresford, where she was born.
She had moved from Boston five years ago, she said, and shared a flat with a widowed sister uptown. If they docked that night Miss Elliston could spend it with them. The best and cheapest places to go to near the city, she assured him, were on Long Island. She mentioned one where she had spent a month, a tiny village of summer bungalows on the Sound, with one small but comfortable inn.
All her memories of Lady Elliston were of this tact and sweetness, this penetrating, tentative tact and sweetness that sought to understand and help and that drew back, unflurried and unprotesting before rebuff, ready to emerge again at any hint of need, of these, and of her great beauty, the light of her large clear eyes, the whiteness of her throat, the glitter of diamonds about and above: for it was always in her most festal aspect, at night, under chandeliers and in ball-rooms, that she best remembered her.
After a time, it became known that Elliston was in the habit of resorting to all the noted quacks that infested the city, or whom money would tempt to journey thither from a distance.
It would seem more consistent, Miss Chloe Elliston, for you either to believe or to disbelieve me." "But, I saw the whiskey. And as for what you, yourself, told me a man will scarcely make himself out worse than he is." "At least, I can scarcely make myself out worse than you believe me to be." The twinkle was gone from MacNair's eyes now, and he spoke more gruffly. "Of what use is all this talk?
The huge shoulders stooped, the form of Chloe Elliston arose as on air, shot over the wall, and dropped into a crumpled heap upon the snow at its base. The face of Big Lena framed by flying strands of flaxen hair appeared for a moment above the wall, and then the sound of a shot rang sharp and clear.
"She was one of the loveliest girls I have ever seen," Lady Elliston went on, helping herself. "She looked like a Madonna and a cowslip. And she looks like that more than ever." She had paused for a moment as an uncomfortable recollection came to her. It was Paul Quentin who had said that: at her house.
She had never seen Lady Elliston look so grave. "Is anything the matter?" she asked. For a moment longer Lady Elliston was silent, as though reflecting. Then releasing Amabel's hand, she said: "Yes: I think something is the matter." "You have come to tell me?" "I didn't come for that. Sit down, Amabel. You are very tired, more tired than the other day. I have been looking at you for a long time.
It was his life or mine. I am glad I did not kill him." The words and the tone reassured Chloe, and when she answered, it was to speak calmly. "We will take him with us," she said. "The Indians could not care for him properly even if they found him. At home I have everything necessary for the handling of just such cases." "But, my dear Miss Elliston think of the portages and the added burden.
Lapierre continued: "Make out your list of supplies, and if I don't show up in the mean time, meet me at the mouth of the Slave three weeks from today. I've got to count days if I get back before the freeze-up. And remember this you are working for Miss Elliston; we've got a big thing if we work it right; we've got MacNair where we want him at last.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking