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Updated: September 13, 2025
Unobservant of each other, they reached the Via Crucis, which leads up to S. Pietro in Montorio. Arrived at the terrace, they stood to look down on Rome. "After all, you are tired," said Mallard, when he had glanced at her. "Indeed I am not." "But you are hungry. We have been forgetting that it is luncheon-time." "I pay little attention to such hours. One can always get something to eat."
There was a cry of "Avanti!" and he entered. Elgar advanced a few steps. He did not affect to smile, but looked directly at his visitor, who as if all the pain of the interview were on him rather than the other cast down his eyes. "I was expecting you," said Reuben, without offering his hand. "So was I you three days ago." "Sit down, and let us talk. I'm ashamed of myself, Mallard.
If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected success would be his. The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar. One dollar for the cigar would be enough.
Bradshaw looked at her hostess and smiled knowingly. "Miss Doran is rather fond of talking about Mr. Mallard," she remarked. "Did you notice that, Miriam?" "Yes, I did." Jacob broke the silence. "How does he get on with his painting?" he asked and it sounded very much as though the reference were to a man busy on the front door.
Lessingham, Eleanor, and Cecily went to the Vatican. Where also was Mallard. He had visited the chapel, and the Stanze, and the Loggia, and the picture-gallery, not looking at things, but seeming to look for some one; then he came out, and walked round St. Peter's to the Museum. In the Sala Rotonda he encountered his friends. They talked about the busts.
Doran and the elder Mallard, having once met, were disposed to sec more of each other; in spite of the difference of social standing, they became intimates, and Mr. Mallard had at length some one with whom he found pleasure in conversing. He did not long enjoy the new experience. In the winter that followed, he died of a cold contracted on one of his walks when the hills were deep in snow.
By Jove! Well, of course, I shall have nothing to do with them. Mallard still acting as her guardian, I suppose. Rather a joke, that. I never could get him to speak on the subject. But I feel glad you know him. He's a solid fellow, tremendously conscientious; just the things you would like in a man, no doubt. Have you seen any of his paintings?"
I was once shooting in the fens of the Isle of Ely, and fired at a mallard sixty or sixty-five yards off, with double B shot, when to my great amazement a workman digging peat at about the same distance from me with the bird, but at least ninety yards to the right of the mallard roared out lustily that I had killed him.
After a time Rob, hearing what he supposed to be the quacking of a duck in the grass behind him, started back to find what he fancied was the hidden mallard. He saw Alex looking at him curiously, and once more heard the quacking. "Why, it's you who've been doing that all the time, Alex!" exclaimed Rob. "I see now why those ducks would come closer to you than to me you were calling them!"
But will you not look at your room, and join my daughter and myself in our afternoon tea?" "No, thank you, I think I shall first try and see either Mr. Mallard or Mr. Grainger. Do you know where Mr. Mallard lives?" "At the Royal Hotel in Flinders Street. My daughter Lilla will be delighted to show you the way." But Miss Sheila Carolan was stubborn, and declined the kind offer, and Mrs.
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