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Updated: June 2, 2025
Whatever was passing in his mind, no trace of it was betrayed in his bearing. He sat stiff and erect, the red glow of the intense fire on his face. His hat-brim was pressed back as the wind had held it in his ride, the scar of Jim Wilder's knife a shadow adding to the grim strength of his lean face. His bound arms drew his shoulders back, giving him a defiant pose.
In her eyes, in her tightened lips, and in the lift of her head, was a whole history of hope, pride, pain, resolve, strife, bafflement and defiance. She could not have chosen to betray so much; she must have counted too fully on the shade of her hat-brim. The beautiful frown relaxed into a smile. "No," she repeated, "only an aching conscience. Ever have one?"
The angular bows on the hat, the geometric lines of the broad hat-brim, the precise cut of the lapels on the corsage, the neat throat-band and V-shaped vesture all insinuate in a most engaging way a dignity and fine, high-bred poise totally obliterated by the circular style of dress erroneously adopted by the misguided woman in No. 26. For Women Who Have Sharp and Prominent Profiles.
"I reckon," he continued, solemnly, peering at the other from under his rusty hat-brim, "I reckon when you see him, maybe you'll want to put a kind of codicil to that deed to the 'Herald." "How's that, Martin?" "Why, I guess maybe you'll well, wait till you see him."
The man in the stable-yard groomed away at the four horses, one after another, saddled them, led them back to the stable again, then composed himself to sleep on the stool outside the stable door, with a straw in his mouth and his hat-brim well over his eyes. The others still lounged in the sunshine before the inn door.
Fyne and I parted this moment at the door here . . . " The girl regarded me with darkening eyes . . . "Mrs. Fyne did not come with her husband," I went on, then hesitated before that white face so still in the pearly shadow thrown down by the hat-brim. "But she sent him," I murmured by way of warning. Her eyelids fluttered slowly over the fixed stare.
"I will have my men away in ten minutes, Lieutenant Maynard," crisply replied the blonde, raw-boned Scotsman with a finger at his hat-brim in courteous salute. He proceeded to call the men by name, strapping, sober fellows who had followed the sea amid the frequent perils of the merchant service. Jack Cockrell was the only landsman and he felt greatly honored that he should be included.
Now she looked up into the strange, sorrowful eyes that were shaded by his tilted hat-brim, and twined her thin hands caressingly about his arm, asking: "Why do you look so queer, dear? Is anything wrong? excuse me asking or is it the Funeral has given you the blue hump? It did me! I've not felt so bad since mother " She broke off.
They passed about a wind-worn rock, and Gloria looked back, hoping that it had hidden them already from Brodie; she saw his head over the top of it, felt upon her the eyes which she could not see, lost as they were under his hat-brim and hurried on. She ran ahead now with King hastening his step to overtake her. That night when King and Gloria said "good-night" an odd constraint lay over them.
By and by a few large drops beat upon his hat, there was a roar in the distance, and a cool draught touched his face. It died away, but the next puff was icy cold, and the roar got louder. He looked up, for he knew what was coming, but there was not a bluff in sight that would shield him from the wind. Turning down his hat-brim against the increasing rain, he let the horses go.
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