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Updated: June 18, 2025
With a lurching abruptness he swung his right hand around and seized the wrist of that trembling, injured hand that would not be still. She could not fail to notice the movement, and the sight was a magic that struck anger out of her. "Lanny, I am hurting you!" she cried miserably.
Oh, I'd like to help write that appeal, telling the women what I have seen! Do you think if it were given to the world that the Grays would still come on? Ask him, Lanny, ask him to make that simple human appeal, as brother to brother, to the court of all humanity! Ask him, please, Lanny!"
The morning found her still tortured by her visualization of the picture of him, irresolute as the mob pressed around the Gray headquarters. "It is as if I had murdered him!" she said. "I let him make love to me I let my hand remain in his once but that was all, Lanny. I I couldn't have borne any more. Yet that was enough enough!"
I figure on making it last six here, and don't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was Lanny Gordon!" It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother from the time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day they finally convicted him on his twenty-first murder.
Not only the voices of Lanny and Feller and Hugo warned her, but also those of her mother and Minna. "He is going to make it harder than I ever guessed!" echoed her own thought, in a flutter of confusion. "Yes, it was strange our meeting on the frontier in peace and then in war!" she exclaimed at random.
She remained leaning against the wagon body, still faint from happiness, waiting for him. She was drawing deeper and longer breaths that were velvety with the glow of sunshine. A flame, the flame that Lanny had desired, of many gentle yet passionate tongues, leaping hither and thither in glad freedom, was in possession of her being.
But there was Dellarme smiling; there was Hugo Mallin saying that he would fight for his own home; there was Stransky, who had thrown the hand-grenade, bringing in an exhausted old man on his back from under fire; there was Feller as he rallied Dellarme's men; and and there was Lanny waiting at the other end of the wire and a burglar should not take her home.
He could think of only one thing that would ever heal the wound. Perhaps the chance for it would come some day. "Yes," she went on, "sitting there so comfortably and serenely and deciding that a man who was ready to die for his convictions must be shot for cowardice! My views are like Hugo Mallin's and my back is against the wall. But to the work, Lanny!
He called for one of his men to bring a buzzer, and it was the work of little more than a minute to cut the wire and make an attachment. Then he heard a woman's voice talking to "Lanny." Who was Lanny? He waited till he had heard enough to know that it was none other than Lanstron, the chief of staff of the Browns, and the woman must be a spy.
"The chance for me to redeem myself, so that I might again look at the flag without shame, taken from me in the name of mercy, when, by helping to bring victory and shorten the war, I might have saved thousands of lives!" he proceeded dismally. "The old argument! Lanny has just used it!" said Marta. But coming from a man sobbing it sounded differently.
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