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"Monsieur will feel better after a little food." The head waiter handed the buttered toast with bland majesty, at the same time shooting a reproving glance at the little chasseur, who was peeping from behind the door at the afternoon breakfaster. "I feel perfectly well," replied Mr. Greyne, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Still, monsieur will feel much better after a little food." Mr.
The carriage turned with a jerk out of the brilliantly-lighted thoroughfare that runs along the sea into a narrow side street, crowded with native Jews, and dark with shadows. "Madame does not know me." The exact truth of this observation struck home, like a dagger, to the mind of Mrs. Greyne. "I am a wicked person," added Abdallah Jack, with a profound conviction.
It certainly became less pale. "But you have fever now!" cried Mr. Greyne anxiously. "I! No; I flush with horror, not with fever! The diary, the sacred diary of madame, exposed to view, read by the children, perhaps the servants! That footman, Thomas, with the nose of curiosity! Ah! I behold that nose penetrating into the holy secrets of the existence of madame! I behold it ah!"
She appeared to be thinking deeply. Mrs. Forbes gently closed the door, and sighed. It was nearly her supper-time, and she felt pensive. "Madam?" she said again. Mrs. Greyne looked up. A strange fire burned in her large eyes. "Mrs. Forbes," she said at length, with weighty deliberation, "the mission of woman in the world is a great one." "Very true, madam.
Forbes pinched her lips together, and appeared older than her years and sourer than her normal temper. "At this moment, Mrs. Forbes," continued Mrs. Greyne, with rising fervour, "he looks for it to me from Africa. From that dark continent he stretches forth his hands to me in humble supplication." "Mr. Greyne has not been taken with another of his bilious attacks, I hope, madam?" said Mrs. Forbes.
Mademoiselle Verbena and Abdallah Jack had met on several occasions, and Mr. Greyne had introduced the latter to the former as his guide, and had generously praised his abilities; but in Mademoiselle Verbena took very little notice of him, and, as time went on, Abdallah Jack seemed to conceive a most distressing dislike of her. On several occasions he advised Mr.
"Would it be right, convenable?" Mr. Greyne was reckless. The dog potential rose up in him again. "Why not? And, besides, who knows us here? Not a soul." "That is true." "Put on your bonnet. Let us start at once!" "But I do not wear the bonnet. I am not like madame." "To be sure. Your hat." And as she flew to obey him, Mr.
"Perfectly." "Be at the Grand Hotel to-night at ten o'clock precisely." "At ten o'clock I will be there. Monsieur will pay a little in advance?" "Here are twenty pounds," cried Mr. Greyne recklessly. The audacious-looking young man took the notes with decision, made a graceful salute, and disappeared in the direction of the quay, while Mr.
To-morrow you shall marry me as you have promised, and we will return to our own land, to the canal where you and I were born. And nevermore shall the Levantine instruct the babes of the English devils, but dwell veiled and guarded in the harem of her master." "Mademoiselle Verbena!" said Mr. Greyne in a more husky voice. "But but your dying mother?"
It seemed that the wickedness of Africa was very difficult to come at. It did not lie upon the surface, but was hidden far down in depths to which the ordinary tourist found it almost impossible to penetrate. In his numerous letters Mr. Greyne described his heroic and unremitting exertions to fill the Merrin's note-books with matter that would be suitable for the purging of humanity.
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