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Updated: June 6, 2025
The wind of the mountain, of the heather, of the woods, had quickened her with an enduring vitality very different from that of the delicate fair mother for whom his heart still grieved. Of course the little Helena did not remember her father, and was at first rather alarmed when Lady Edmond Herrington told her that a new papa was coming home for her from across the seas.
And all that evening as he watched his wife across the crystal and the roses of the Herrington table, trying to interpret the question that had been in her eyes, trying to interpret her careful silence, he realized what every husband sooner or later awakes to realize that he had married a stranger. He did not know her.
Herrington did not altogether keep her word in the matter of time. It was two hours before she was back. To George she handed a bundle of papers, remarking: "Thought you'd like to see that Sentinel extra." "I suppose Doolittle has done his worst," he remarked grimly. He glanced at the paper.
On this he put the overseer and a part of the slaves, and then hired a Mr. Herrington to take charge of the remainder. Herrington and his gang of slaves was sent to the east side to chop down the heavy timber and clear the land for cultivation, all of which had first to be learned, for we knew nothing of felling trees, and the poor slaves had rather a hard time of it.
"You seem to have left nothing for me to do," said George. "You'll find out there'll be all you'll want," replied the brisk Mrs. Herrington. "We're organizing meetings one in every hall in the city, one on almost every other street corner, and we're going to rush you from one to the next most of the night and there'll be no letup for you tomorrow, even if it is election day.
Jaffry wrinkled up his eyes, chuckled softly, then stepped to the door of the unimportant one. Before opening it, he turned. "Mrs. Harvey Herrington been in?" "Twice with a committee." "Any idea what she wanted?" Betty was aware that the whimsical and roundabout Mr. Jaffry knew everything about everybody in Whitewater.
Hundreds of Whitewater's women were flung about, many sent sprawling to the pavement, and some hundreds of the city's most respectable voters, caught unawares, were hustled about and knocked down by the same ruthless drive. "My God!" cried George, impulsively starting forward. "The damned brutes!" But Mrs. Herrington still held his arm.
And his campaign manager says he's not going away out to his home on Sheridan Road. His campaign headquarters are going to be in the center of town, at the Commercial Hotel, where he can be reached for there's quick work ahead of us. Come on." Five minutes later they were all in the Commercial Hotel's best suite. "Now, to business, Mr. Remington," briskly began Mrs. Herrington.
What Harvey Herrington is thinking of to allow " George's emotion constrained him to broken utterance. "And we're dining there tonight! She has no sense of the decencies the the the hospitality of existence. We won't go I'll telephone Genevieve " "Fie, fie Georgie!" observed Betty. "Why be personal over a mere detail of a political campaign?"
He tried to busy himself with the affairs of his clients, but even when he could keep away from his windows he was aware of the crowds in front of McMonigal's block, of Frances Herrington, her "ducky" toque and her infernal voiceless speech.
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