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Updated: June 22, 2025
She came to the rock beyond the bushes and sat down alone looking dreamily out over the Neosho Valley. "You'll go to prayer meeting, Phil?" Aunt Candace asked at supper. "Yes, but I believe I'll go down the street first. Save a place for me. I want to see Dr. Hemingway next to you of all Springvale." Which was my second falsehood for that day. I needed prayer meeting.
When his hunting trip in Uganda was over, Hemingway shipped his specimens and weapons direct from Mombasa to New York, but he himself journeyed south over the few miles that stretched to Zanzibar.
But he answered her in the only way that seemed possible: "The time: I have promised to meet Chief Justice Hemingway at his chambers between four and five this afternoon." "Chief Justice Hemingway?" she queried. "Why, he " she broke off suddenly and sprang from her chair. "I have the little car here in the street. It was Mrs.
Ripley is my father's friend, and his lawyer, too. Mr. Ripley will go to your editor, and let him know what is going to happen if that scurrilous sheet " Here Bert checked himself, for Dick had begun to smile coldly. "Confound you!" roared Bert Dodge. He leaped forward, intent on striking the young junior down. But Officer Hemingway pushed Dodge back forcefully.
Now, he thought it best that we come around here and have a talk with you." "I can begin that talk best," pursued Hemingway, "by asking you, Prescott, whether you have anything that you want to say first-off?" "I can't say anything," replied Dick, slowly, "except that I know nothing as to how any of the articles missed at school came to vanish.
And so he went to the coast, as happy as a school-boy on a holiday. The sea fascinated him, and the faces of the men who go down to the sea in ships. It was going to be the happiest and most fruitful summer he had known for years. He bade the Hemingways a gay farewell. Mrs. Hemingway, he noted, looked at him speculatively. Her matrimonial plans for him had revived. He worked gloriously.
There was a short silence. Hemingway broke it in a tone that would accept no denial. "You can't talk like that to me," he cried. "What do you mean?" Without resentment, the consul regarded him with grave solicitude. His look was one of real affection, and, although his tone held the absolute finality of the family physician who delivers a sentence of death, he spoke with gentleness and regret.
But she said I must take my medicine in our own country, and start square with a clean slate. She's done a lot for me, and whether I'd have done that for her or not, I don't know. But now, I must! What you did to-night to save me, leaves me no choice. So, I'll sail " With an exclamation of anger, Hemingway caught the other by the shoulder and dragged him closer. "To save you!" he whispered.
The girl exclaimed with a gesture of despair. "He won't understand!" she cried. Hemingway advanced eagerly. "Help me to understand," he begged. "You won't understand," explained the girl, "that I am speaking the truth. You are right that things can change in the future, but nothing can change the past. Can't you understand that?" "What do I care for the past?" cried the young man scornfully.
Dolly Hemingway, a handsome, fair-haired, imperious-looking girl, was lolling in a hammock, directing the deliberations of Sattie Felton, aged seventeen, who was sitting on the floor holding a dog's head in her lap, and of Grace Sinclair, aged twenty, who was in possession of a stool and a box of chocolate creams.
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