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Updated: June 8, 2025
I had been sickened by their crazy devotions, but I was more sickened by this man's barbarity. It was the woman, too, who had given me food the night before. So I stepped out, and bade the man release her. He was a huge, sunburned ruffian, and for answer aimed a clour at my head. "Take that, my mannie," he said. "I'll learn ye to follow the petticoats."
No nonsense! Quick quick " With a deftly manoeuvered round of good-bys, a grip-laden dash for the door, a throbbing moment of turning back when it seemed as though Sarah Kantor's arms could not unlock their deadlock of him, Leon Kantor was out and gone, the group of faces point-etched into the silence behind him. The poor, mute face of Mannie, laughing softly. Rosa Kantor crying into her hands.
When this happened Vera would touch a button, and "Mannie" Day, who admitted visitors, and later, in the hall, searched their hats and umbrellas for initials, came on the run and threw the infatuated one out upon a cold and unfeeling sidewalk.
"Play that new piece, Leon the one you set to music. You know. The words by that young boy in the war who wrote such grand poetry before he was killed. The one that always makes poor Mannie laugh. Play it for him, Leon." Her plump little unlined face innocent of fault, Mrs. Isadore Kantor ventured her request, her smile tired with tears. "No, no Rosa not now! Ma wouldn't want that!"
As I was sayin', Sandy's terriple fairntickled aboot the neck an' the sides o' the nose, an' oor lest holiday made him a hankie waur than uswal. He's a gey prood mannie too, mind ye, although he winna haud wi't. But I can tell you it's no a bawbee-wirth o' hair oil that sairs Sandy i' the week. But that's nether here nor there.
"Does it hurt?" asked Hugh, also full of ruth. "Be ashamed of yourself," whispered Miss Christie, "to work on the dear children's feelings so. No, my sweet mannie, it doesn't hurt a bit." "I'm very much to be pitied," proceeded Valentine.
With a deftly manoeuvred round of good-byes, a grip-laden dash for door, a throbbing moment of turning back when it seemed as though Sarah Kantor's arms could not unlock their deadlock of him, Leon Kantor was out and gone, the group of faces point-etched into the silence behind him. The poor mute face of Mannie, laughing softly. Rosa Kantor crying into her hands.
"Speug, my mannie, how are ye?" said this amazing figure. "Ye've been long of coming. There's something like a knife, eh!" and Bulldog opened up the whole concern and challenged Speug to produce his knife, which was not so bad after all, for it had six departments, and one of them was a file, which was wanting in Bulldog's. "Show the master your peerie, Speug," said Nestie.
"I do, son; I do! Even Mannie should have his share of good-bye." To Gina Berg: "They want me to play that little setting of mine of Allan Seeger's poem, 'I have a rendezvous." "It it's beautiful, Leon! I was to have sung it on my program to-night only, I'm afraid you had better not " "Please, Leon! Nothing you play can ever make me as sad as it makes me glad.
With a boy's pride in his own incorrigibility he went on boastingly: "Oh, yes," he said, "I used to be awful bad! Cocaine and all kinds of dope, and cigarettes, and whiskey. I was nearly all in with morphine, it was then till she took hold of me, and stopped me." "She?" said Winthrop. "Vera," said Mannie. "She made me stop. I had to stop. She started taking it herself." "What!" cried Winthrop.
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