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Updated: June 18, 2025
I shall have the employment of nearly 15,000 men. I shall be the husband of the woman who built the David Lockwin Annex " The man pauses. "The David Lockwin Annex," he sneers, "No! No! No! It was a splendid pile. It was a splendid pile." The man grows sordid. "But it cost a splendid pile. Pshaw, George Harpwood, will anything ever satisfy you? How about that hospital?
Esther Wandrell was pleased to be in the society of either David Lockwin or George Harpwood. David Lockwin she knew. He was socially her equal. He had lived in Chicago as long as she. He was essentially the man she might love, for there was an element of unrest in his nature that corresponded with the turmoil underneath her calm exterior.
Such a man is George Harpwood. Let the November mists roll in from Lake Michigan. "It is no bed out there for me," thinks the bridegroom, whose other days have often been gloomy enough in November. Let the smoke of the tall chimneys tumble into the streets and pirouette backward and forward in black eddies, giving to the city an aspect forbidding to even the manner-born.
His clarion voice must be heard denouncing the evil plans of the political enemy. The absence of David Lockwin from his head-quarters is therefore declared to be a "bomb-shell." In the afternoon papers it is said that he has undoubtedly withdrawn in favor of Harpwood. The morning papers announce serious illness in Lockwin's family. What they announce matters nothing to Lockwin. He cannot be seen.
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