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Updated: June 22, 2025
In a fit of anger, the old man offered him what was at least ten per cent more than the value of Fabian's share. The sombre Fabian had the offer transferred to paper at once, and it was signed by his father not without compunction, because difficult as Fabian was he might go further and fare worse.
We're so little alike, it makes me feel sometimes we're not brothers. I don't know where you get your temperament from." "It doesn't matter where I got it, it's mine. I want to earn my own living, and I'm doing it." Admiration came into Fabian's face. "Yes," he said, "and you don't borrow " "And don't beg or steal.
"Who are you?" asked Don Estevan, trying to remember who it was, for years and difference of costume had altered the aspect of the old coast-guardsman. "Pepe the Sleeper, who has not forgotten his residence at Ceuta." At this name, which explained Fabian's words at the bridge of Salto de Agua, Don Estevan lost his air of contempt.
You're so sure you're going to win that I'd disappoint you, monsieur only to do you good." "Ah, I'm sorry you haven't any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it's only to do me good! Well, goodbye good-bye," he added, raising his hat, and presently was gone. As Carnac drew near, Fabian's wife stepped forward. "Carnac," she said, "I hope you'll come with us on the river in Fabian's steam-launch.
Sir Mark, who is always kindly, though a trifle cynical at times, and thoughtful towards those he likes, is displeased at this change that Dicky has made. Fabian he likes nay, if there be one friend in the world he loves, it is Fabian Blount. Portia, too, is a favorite of his, so great a favorite that he would gladly see her throw some sunshine into Fabian's life.
In a narrow field he had organized his life perfectly, had developed his opportunities, had safeguarded his every move. The smiling inquiry in his face was answered by the old man saying abruptly: "Fabian's gone. He's deserted the ship." The young man had the wish to say in reply, "At last, eh!" but he avoided it. "Where has he gone?"
After dinner it will not be too late for Sylvan to take my sure-footed cob and ride back to Rockhold and explain to the family that Cora is to remain here overnight, and that I will myself take her home to-morrow evening if she should wish to go." "What do you say, Cora," inquired the young man. "I accept Uncle Fabian's offer and will remain here for the present," said the young lady.
My dear fellow, this is one of your bad days; come with me; a walk through the evening dews will restore you to reason once more." He passes his arm through Fabian's, and leads him down the balcony steps into the dew-steeped gardens. A moan from the sea comes up to greet them as they go. No other sound disturbs the calm of the evening air.
We are poor, and cannot demand credit until he returns." "It is better not to do so," replied her visitor, "but at present we have neither Jon Jonson nor Ragnar to speak about. A certain person in this neighborhood has placed himself in an unpleasant position." "Who can it be?" exclaimed Magde, terrified by Mr. Fabian's imposing aspect, "I will run and call father!"
"Good evening, Slyme," says Fabian, in half kindly, half contemptuous tone. The old man murmurs something in return. His eyes refuse to meet Fabian's, his hands join each other, and rub palm to palm in an uneasy, shuffling fashion. His voice is husky and slightly uncertain. His dull old eyes roam from Fabian to Portia in an odd, questioning way, as if debating some strange matter.
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