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Updated: June 29, 2025
Kaufman," he said, "it ain't none of my business, but ain't it a shame a good business woman like you should let herself always be tied down to such a house like she was married to it?" "But " "Can't get away on Saturdays, just like it ain't the same any other day in the week, I ask you! Saturday you blame it on yet!" She lifted the apron from her hem, her voice hurrying.
Vetsburg, if I don't want I come back and find my house on the market, maybe rented over my head, I got to stay home for Shulif when he comes to-day." A rush of dark blood had surged up into Mr. Vetsburg's face, and he twiddled his hat, his dry fingers moving around inside the brim. "Mrs. Kaufman," he cried "Mrs.
Vetsburg lighted a loosely wrapped cigar and slumped in his chair. "If anybody," he observed, "should ask right this minute where I'm at, tell 'em for me, Mrs. Kaufman, I'm in the most comfortable chair in the house." "You should keep it, then, up in your room, Mr. Vetsburg, and not always bring it down again when I get Annie to carry it up to you."
The direct saving to our industries at $5 per ton would amount to $200,000,000 worth of coal per year. Assistant Secretary Herbert Kaufman before the Senate Committee on Education presented facts and figures which accentuate the seriousness of the national situation. Among other things he said: "The South leads in illiteracy, but the North leads in non-English speaking.
Vetsburg bit his cigar, slumped deeper; and inserted a thumb in the arm of his waistcoat. "Why, Mrs. Kaufman, don't you and Ruby come down by Atlantic City with me to-morrow over Easter? Huh? A few more or less don't make no difference to my sister the way they get ready for crowds." Miss Kaufman shot forward, her face vivid.
By one of those rare atavisms by which a poet can be bred of a peasant or peasant be begot of poet, Miss Ruby Kaufman, who was born in Newark, posthumous, to a terrified little parent with a black ribbon at the throat of her gown, had brought with her from no telling where the sultry eyes and tropical-turned skin of spice-kissed winds.
Thompson's reaction might indicate a difference in kind, a Change to . . . what? Something that would complement the Kin Change? It was half an hour before the desk sergeant called to report that Kaufman had come in, but when she did, the Count lost no time getting to Security and the holding cell.
Kaufman could give somebody else besides her own daughter and Vetsburg the white meat from everything, wouldn't it?" "It's a shame before the boarders! She knows, Mrs. Pinshriber, how my husband likes breast from the chicken. You think once he gets it? No. I always tell him, not 'til chickens come doublebreasted like overcoats can he get it in this house, with Vetsburg such a star boarder."
There was far more to his need than her gentle sipping; he was responding to her physically as well, knew she felt it, and luxuriated in her answering caress. There was no such thing, he realized dreamily, as a casual liaison between Kin and Bloodmate; he was free to accept her love-making, as well as her feeding. "But not in a detention cell," Kaufman murmured against her Bloodmate's throat.
He didn't have to knock; the door opened as he neared it, and Kaufman invited him in with a flourish. "Nice to see you again, Captain," she said, smiling and this time Thompson let himself respond to her hunger and her gleaming fangs. He went into her open arms, leaning his head to one side. She brushed his throat with her lips, and he felt amusement mixed with her hunger.
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