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Updated: April 30, 2025
As the late spring days grew warmer and brighter they mainly camped out on the "terrace," amid the array of small tables at the door of the establishment, where Mr. Flack, on the return, could descry them from afar at their post and in the very same postures to which he had appointed them.
Let one of our photographers go to the house and wait for me. Send a messenger to Professor Harding, and telephone to the assistant commissioner. Tell any of the people who are at the house not to touch anything and to detain every one there. And Flack Flack. Not a word to the newspaper men. We don't want any leakage yet." He hung up the receiver and began to dress hurriedly, but methodically.
While the two gentlemen were at a distance Mme. de Cliche expressed to Francie the conviction that she would allow her to see her home: on which Francie replied that she was not going home, but was going somewhere else with Mr. Flack. And she explained, as if it simplified the matter, that this gentleman was a big editor.
"Ah but I WAS the means!" Mr. Flack interrupted. "We must go, after all, by what DID happen." "Well, I thanked you when I drove with you and let you draw me out. So we're square, aren't we?" The term Francie used was a colloquialism generally associated with levity, but her face, as she spoke, was none the less deeply serious serious even to pain. "We're square?" he repeated.
I thought there was no harm in it, knowing that Sir Horace trusted me." "And some papers that you knew were there are now missing. Do you mean stolen?" "Yes, sir." "When did you see them last?" "Just before Inspector Chippenfield came the morning after the body was discovered. You remember, sir, that he came straight up here while you stayed downstairs talking to Constable Flack."
"Do you mean if they've been kind and sweet to me? They've been very kind and sweet," Francie mid. "They want to do even more than I'll let them." "Ah why won't you let them?" George Flack asked almost coaxingly. "Well, I do, when it comes to anything," the girl went on. "You can't resist them really; they've got such lovely ways."
"I don't know, Mr. Flack," Francie answered with impatience. "Well I do then. He's a coward too he'll do what his poppa tells him, and the countess and the duchess and his French brothers-in-law from whom he takes lessons: he'll just back down, he'll give you up." "I can't talk with you about that," said Francie. "Why not? why is he such a sacred subject, when we ARE together?
Flack to Paris, which struck her almost as a treachery, since it seemed to denote a plan. A plan, and an uncommunicated plan, on Mr. Dosson's part was unnatural and alarming; and there was further provocation in his appearing to shirk the responsibility of it by not having come up at such a moment with his accomplice. Delia was impatient to know what he wanted anyway.
Isn't your portrait finished?" "Yes, but he won't give it up." "Who won't give it up?" "Why Mr. Waterlow. He wants to keep it near him to look at it in case he should take a fancy to change it. But I hope he won't change it it's so lovely as it is!" Francie made a mild joke of saying. "I hear it's magnificent and I want to see it," said George Flack. "Then why don't you go?"
"By den donder!" exclaimed Peter van Holp to Carl Schummel, "but that little one in the red jacket and patched petticoat skates well. Gunst! She has toes on her heels and eyes in the back of her head! See her! It will be a joke if she gets in the race and beats Katrinka Flack, after all." "Hush! not so loud!" returned Carl, rather sneeringly.
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