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Updated: May 28, 2025
She might not be able to show the under-white of her eyes arid look like a seraph, but she had her voice, her features, under perfect control, and she had never been quick to blush. She did not suspect that Alexina was angling, but the very sound of Gathbroke's name was enough to put up her guard. "You must have had several proposals, Gora dear.
Gwynne could think of no better remedy for demoralized nerves than a flirtation with a resourceful California girl, and if Dick annexed a living companion for his trying journey to England so much the better. Gathbroke's excitement subsided quickly. He was in no condition for sustained enthusiasm.
I know by the expression of your face just now that, yours is the real thing. Is he in Paris?" "I'm...not sure....Yes, there is something...the conditions are very peculiar...not at all what you think...there is so much more to it....No, I don't think I can tell you." A fortnight ago Alexina could have lifted her eyes and uttered Gathbroke's name as if groping through a jungle of memories.
But Alexina was too excited to have a firm grip on the Ballinger-Groome tradition. She had had an adventure, an uncommon one, in a far from respectable night district; she had done something that would cause the impeccable Mortimer the acutest anguish if he knew of it; and she had caught sight immediately of Gathbroke's picture framed and enthroned on the mantelpiece.
"Well, come to see me often. I shall need your advice." "You bet. And now, I'll see you to your car; stay with you until you are safely transferred to the Fillmore car. And don't assert your independence in just this way again. All those loafers on Fillmore Street are not spiteful socialists." As Gora put on her hat at the distant mirror Alexina turned to Gathbroke's picture with a scowl.
Nevertheless...if she could only see his eyes...he turned his full profile...she had never glanced at Gathbroke's profile; he had given her no opportunity!...Certainly she had not the faintest idea whether the man of the embassy had had a snub nose or the thin straight feature of this man who would have attracted her attention in any ease if only because he did not carry his shoulders with the disillusioning obliquity of the British Army...why did he not turn round?
During the retreat from Mons and again in those black days of March, nineteen-eighteen, Gathbroke's tormented mind snapped from the present and flashed on its screen so startling a resurrection of himself during those last dreadful days in San Francisco that for the moment he was unconscious of the world crashing about him.
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