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'It is easier to cook well than to marry at all, even badly! 'I do not at all agree with you, answered Herr Tiefenbach severely. 'Without flattering myself, I may say that my wife married well; but her potato dumplings are terrifying. 'You were never married, were you? Margaret asked, turning to Griggs with a smile. 'No, he answered.
Sandy Griggs, the butcher's son, was laid up with a lame leg; while George Hurst happened to develop a touch of malaria, and his parents would not hear of him going on the water at such a time.
Where, before, he had been shuddering over thoughts of the death-house cell that might be awaiting him, he now had concern only for the safety of the woman he cherished. And there was a great grief in his soul; for it was borne in on him that his own folly, in disobedience to her command, had led up to the murder of Griggs and to all that might come of the crime.
Griggs had promised not to ask questions, and he expressed no curiosity. 'As soon as you go below I'll see about the chair, he said. 'My cabin is on this deck, Margaret answered. 'I believe I have a tiny little sitting-room, too. It's what they call a suite in their magnificent language, and the photographs in the advertisements make it look like a palatial apartment!
"I hate your reflections about the human kind, Griggs, and I do not like your way of looking at women. You hate women so!" "No. You like my descriptions of the 'ideal creatures I rave about' much better, it seems. Upon my soul, friend, if you want a criterion of yourself, take this conversation. A fortnight ago to-day or to-morrow, will it be?
There was only Logotheti to remind her of her everyday life, for Griggs did not do so at all; he belonged much more to the 'atmosphere, and though she knew that he had loved in his youth a woman who had a beautiful voice, he understood nothing of music and never talked about it.
"Then, I'll charge them both with the murder," the Inspector growled vindictively. "And, by God, they'll both go to trial unless somebody comes through." He brought his huge fist down on the desk with violence, and his voice was forbidding. "If it's my last act on earth," he declared, "I'm going to get the man who shot Eddie Griggs."
He believed, and had always believed, that Reanda had loved Francesca in secret, though she had treated him as a mere friend, as a protectress should treat one who needs her protection. Griggs turned and took up the note to look at it keenly, for he believed himself a judge of handwriting, and he thought that he might detect in hers the indications of any great suffering.
Hetchy gives us a good word from Twin Buttes; and Griggs, up in the Carnadines, wires from Alkire that he has just completed an auto canvass of the High Line district. The ranchmen up that way have had a pretty bad scare. There was a threat made that the price of water was going to be raised. But they're all right now." The boss nodded approvingly. Then: "How about those microphone notes?"
"Did you not once scalp somebody yourself, Griggs?" asked John, suddenly lowering his newspaper. "Not quite," I answered; "but I once shaved a poodle with a pocket-knife. Perhaps you were thinking of that?" While I spoke there was a sound of wheels without, and John rose to his feet. He seemed impatient. "That must be Cutter at last'" he exclaimed, moving towards the door that led into the hall.
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