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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I think I can get there late," he then replied to Mr. Longdon. "I think I can get there early," Mr. Cashmore declared. "Mrs. Grendon must have a box; in fact I know which, and THEY don't," he jocosely continued to his hostess. Mrs. Brook meanwhile had given Mr. Longdon her hand. "Well, in any case the child SHALL soon come to you.
Should he remark casually without any preamble: "Pardon me for addressing you, sir, but I'm Hilary Grendon, you know." Just like that, and lean back for the inevitable gasp: "What, not the Hilary Grendon!" And he would nod offhandedly as though he had just taken a little trip to Frisco and back. He stole a sidelong glance at the sternly-etched profile.
"If you are jesting with me...." He left the sentence unfinished, but the clenching of a huge fist left no doubt as to his intention. "I am not jesting," Hilary assured him grimly. "I have been away from the Earth for five years. I've just returned." The great hand clenched tighter. "Now I know you are crazy, or Who are you?" he ended abruptly. "Hilary Grendon."
Longdon spoke very simply, with the consequence this time, on the part of his companions, of a silence of some minutes, which he himself had at last to break. "Mr. Grendon doesn't like her." The addition of these words apparently made the difference as if they constituted a fresh link with the irresistible comedy of things. That he was unexpectedly diverting was, however, no check to Mr.
There were three of the terrible diskoids hovering within a radius of one hundred miles, ready to loose their hideous destruction at the slightest sign of disaffection. But this time the spirit of the Earthmen was not broken. Their gait was springier, their glance more forthright than heretofore. For every one knew that Hilary Grendon, the prime mover, the defier of the Mercutians, had escaped.
The sign of Tishy Grendon as it had been often called in a society in which variety of reference had brought to high perfection, for usual safety, the sense of signs was a retarded facial glimmer that, in respect to any subject, closed up the rear of the procession.
He, Hilary Grendon, was the sole survivor of that tremendous Odyssey! Hilary shook his head vigorously to clear away the flood of recollections. Enough that he had returned. Then a sudden eagerness surged through him, a joyous intensity of emotion. What a story he had to relate how the Earth people would hang with bated breath upon his adventurings!
There was the noise of padding feet up the ramp. The Mercutians were coming, in force. Grim gripped Hilary by the shoulder, shook him vigorously. "They're coming. We're trapped." Grendon snapped out of the lethargy into which he had sunk, face drawn and gray. "No. There is a way. Follow me."
Edward appeared for a moment at a loss. "Tishy Grendon and her craze for Nanda." "Has she a craze for Nanda?" "Surely I told you Nanda's to be with her for Easter." "I believe you did," he bethought himself, "but you didn't say anything about a craze. And where's Harold?" he went on. "He's at Brander. That is he will be by dinner. He has just gone." "And how does he get there?"
"Is the book you speak of something VERY awful?" Mrs. Grendon, with so much these past minutes to have made her so, was at last visibly more present. "That's what Lord Petherton says of it. From what he knows of the author." "So that he wants to keep her ?" "Well, from trying it first. I think he wants to see if it's good for her."
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