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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Have you spoken to her about it?" "I don't dare," Bobby returned bluntly. "I know I should end by losing my temper and saying things about Lorimer. I wouldn't hurt Beatrix for the world, and I believe she honestly thinks she is doing the Lord's own work in not throwing Lorimer over." "Perhaps she may be," Miss Gannion said gently. "Miss Gannion!
Lorimer; we hate the idea of his marrying Beatrix, and neither one of us dares interfere. Let's go and talk to Miss Gannion." "What's the use?" "To clear out our mental ganglia. At least, by the time we have been over it with her, we shall know what we think, and there's a certain satisfaction in that." "I know just what I think about it now." "What do you think?" "Damn," Bobby replied concisely.
They were very enthusiastic, as far as they went; but that was only a few lines." "And the rest of the criticism probably concerned itself with Thayer, and was discreetly cut away," Bobby said, as he dropped back into his chair. "Miss Gannion, Arlt is on the steps, and you have not invited us to stay to lunch, so we must take a reluctant departure. Before I go, though, I'd like to ask one favor.
It was too strong, too much alive, to be killed by the facts of one single night. No; it had been ailing for months; but it finally died, six weeks ago, and nothing now can ever make it live again. Miss Gannion, I have been very selfish." "I don't think so, Beatrix." But Beatrix gently drew herself out of Miss Gannion's arms, rose and stood looking down at her friend.
In this room which showed so plainly its feminine occupancy, he seemed uncommonly virile, and Miss Gannion, watching him, felt a momentary exultation in his virility. Most of the men whom she knew, put on a feminine languor as an adjunct to their evening clothes. Thayer looked down upon her with manifest approval.
I suspect that the same might be said of a good many novelists, and that a judicious trimming of the seams according to some established pattern might improve their work." Arlt nodded approvingly. "As usual, Miss Gannion has spoken wisely," he remarked. "Miss Gannion has only echoed my words," Sally objected. "Not at all.
He turned to Beatrix. "Otto? What about him, Miss Dane?" "Only good. Miss Gannion was speaking to me about him, last night." "You know Miss Gannion?" "Who doesn't?" He laughed silently from between his close-shut teeth. "That can be interpreted in two senses." "Not if you know Miss Gannion. She is of the salt of the earth." "I am glad to hear you say so.
And then? Often as she asked herself the question, Margaret Gannion never swerved from her original answer. In the end, the Puritan would rule. No man could so dominate others and fail to dominate himself. Thayer, meanwhile, had risen and was thoughtfully pacing the room. Miss Gannion shook off the last of her reverie and turned to watch him. "What is it, Mr. Thayer?" she inquired suddenly.
Miss Gannion was on the way to Alaska, that summer, and, next to her, the Danes were the closest friends he had made during his first season in New York. It was only natural that he should arrange his plans in order to be near them. Moreover, the idle life on the island sounded attractive, and he was fully aware of the fact that his constant companionship would be a strong hold upon Lorimer.
With a pang, Miss Gannion admitted to herself the futility of her ever hoping to gain so impersonal an attitude. She was intensely feminine, which is to say, intensely subjective. Talking to Thayer in his present mood gave her the feeling that unexpectedly she had collided with an iceberg.
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