Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 24, 2025
Henderley had incited and paid; the others, Dupont and Lygon, had acted and received. Henderley had had no remorse, none at any rate that weighed upon him, for he had got used to ruining rivals and seeing strong men go down, and those who had fought him come to beg or borrow of him in the end.
In the beginning of the eighties Lady Lygon bought a piece of land in the Fulham Palace Road for the purpose of founding almshouses on it. This project was never carried out, and the ground was eventually given to the Waste Land Trustees, who built the present almshouses on it in 1886.
Lygon was conscious that the fifty dollars sent him every New Year for five years by Dupont had been sent with a purpose, and that he was now Dupont's tool. Debilitated, demoralised, how could he, even if he wished, struggle against this powerful confederate, as powerful in will as in body? Yet if he had his own way he would not go to Henderley.
"What do you want for your shack and the lake?" he asked with restored confidence. The fellow no doubt was grateful that his daughter had saved his life, he thought. "Five hundred dollars," answered Lygon quickly. Henderley would have handed over all that lay on the table before him but that he thought it better not to do so. "I'll buy it," he said. "You seem to have been hit hard.
"What do you want for your shack and the lake?" he asked with restored confidence. The fellow no doubt was grateful that his daughter had saved his life, he thought. "Five hundred dollars," answered Lygon quickly. Henderley would have handed over all that lay on the table before him but that he thought it better not to do so. "I'll buy it," he said. "You seem to have been hit hard.
"Qui reste la Lygon?" he asked. "Dupont," was the nervous, hesitating reply. Dupont came forwards quickly. "Ah, ben, here we are again so," he grunted cheerily. Entering the house they sat before the fire, holding their hands to the warmth from force of habit, though the night was not cold. "Ben, you will do it to-night then?" Dupont said. "Sacre, it is time!"
Lygon had no fixed purpose in taking a weapon with him; it was only a vague instinct of caution that moved him. In the canoe on the river, in an almost speechless apathy, he heard Dupont's voice giving him instructions.
For minutes the struggle continued, for Lygon was fighting with the desperation of one who makes his last awful onset against fate and doom. Dupont also had his knife at work. At last it drank blood, but as he got it home, he suddenly reeled blindly, lost his balance, and lurched into the water with a groan.
As the shadows fell, Lygon roused himself from his trance with a shiver. It was not cold, but in him there was a nervous agitation, making him cold from head to foot; his body seemed as impoverished as his mind. Looking with heavy-lidded eyes across the prairie, he saw in the distance the barracks of the Riders of the Plains and the jail near by, and his shuddering ceased.
Eef you say you not care a dam to go to jail, so you can put him there, too, becos' you have not'ing, an' so dam seeck of everyt'ing, he will t'ink ten t'ousan' dollar same as one cent to Nic Dupont ben sur!" Lygon nodded his head, still holding his hands to the blaze.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking