Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
A joyous smile ran round the circle. "Monsieur Greyne," said the proprietor, "who is living here for the winter?" 4 "Mr. Eustace Greyne," murmured the great novelist, grasping her bonnet with both hands. The maître d'hôtel drew nearer. "Madame wishes to see Monsieur Greyne?" he asked. "I do at once." A blessed consciousness of Mother Earth was gradually beginning to steal over her.
Paul's Cathedral, and this devotion she still kept up. Whenever she had an hour or two free she always so she herself said spent it in "ce charmant St. Paul." As she entered the oracle's retreat she cast down her eyes, and trembled visibly. "What is it, Miss Verbena?" inquired Mrs. Greyne, with a kindly English accent, calculated to set any poor French creature quite at ease.
Mrs. Greyne was touched to the very quick. Her husband was sacrificing his rest, his health nay, perhaps even his very life in her service. It was well she had come, well that a period was to be put to these terrible researches. They should be stopped at once, even this very night. Better a thousand literary failures than that her husband's existence should be placed in jeopardy.
The chef de gare thought so. Monsieur had four hours, if that was sufficient. Mr. Greyne hastened forth, had a Turkish bath, purchased a new dressing-case, ate a hasty déjeuner, and took a cab to the wharf. It was a long drive over the stony streets. He glanced from side to side, watching the bustling traffic, the hurry of the nations going to and from the ships.
You might catch the express to Paris to-morrow; no, say the day after to-morrow." She looked at him tenderly. "The parting will be bitter." "Very bitter," Mr. Eustace Greyne replied. He felt really upset. Mrs. Greyne laid the hand which had brought them from Phillimore Gardens to Belgrave Square gently upon his. "Think of the result," she said. "The greatest book I have done yet.
In two minutes Mademoiselle Verbena appeared, drying her eyes with a tiny pocket-handkerchief, and forcing a little pathetic smile of welcome. Mr. Greyne clasped her hand in silence. She sat down in a rep chair at his right, and they looked at each other. "Mais, mon Dieu! How monsieur is changed!" cried the Levantine. "If madame could see him! What has happened to monsieur?"
Moreover, the Ouled spoke a word or two of uncertain French. Thus, therefore, things fell out, and such was the precise situation when Mrs. Greyne flicked a crumb from her chocolate brocade gown, tied her bonnet strings, and rose from table to set forth to the Kasbah with Abdallah Jack. It was a radiant night.
Greyne, unable further to govern his desire for full expression, gave Mademoiselle Verbena a slightly Bowdlerised description of the dances of the desert. She heard him with amazement. "How terrible!" she exclaimed when he had finished. "And does one pay much to see such steps of the Evil One?" "I gave her twenty pounds. Abdallah Jack " "Abdallah Jack?" "My guide informed me that was the price.
Greyne knit her superb forehead "I should suggest that you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a specially inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards the the er hidden things of life." "I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?" "I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. Go everywhere, see everything.
It will take you very far." "Out of London?" "Oh, yes." "Out of not out of England?" "Yes; it will take you to Algeria." "Good gracious!" cried Mr. Greyne. Mrs. Greyne sighed. "Good gracious!" Mr. Greyne repeated after a short interval. "Am I to go alone?" "Of course you must take Darrell." Darrell was Mr. Greyne's valet. "And what am I to do at Algiers?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking