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"How many stars are there in the Pleiades, anyway?" she asked with sudden imps of mirth in her eyes. Again she felt on safe ground, sure that she had conquered and put a too presuming male in his place. She had no idea that the laurels had been chiefly not hers at all but Alan Massey's, who was quite as wise as he boasted. But she kept her word and danced no more with Alan Massey that night.
He hated all men because of her and particularly he hated with black hate the man whom he was wronging daily by his silence, his cousin, John Massey. Beneath all this strange, sad welter of emotion deeper still in Alan Massey's heart lay the tragic conviction that he would never win Tony, that his own sins would somehow rise to strike at him like a snake out of the grass.
In the end the boy had not had the courage to destroy the letters as he had promised to do. Instead he sent them both, together with the packet of evidence as to John Massey's identity, to Alan Massey. The thing was in Alan's own hands at last. Nothing could save or destroy him but himself. And by a paradox his salvation depended upon his being strong enough to bring himself to ruin.
You can't get a woman's name mixed up with a cheap brawl such as you are trying to start. You know, it won't do." Alan Massey's white face turned a shade whiter. His arm fell. He turned back to Tony, real anguish in his fire-shot eyes. "I beg your pardon, Tony dearest," he bent over to say. "Carson is right. We'll fight it out elsewhere when you are not present. May I take you to the taxi?
One of my most vivid recollections at Massey's relates to a subject which by no means forms a part of one's intellectual development, and yet is at the bottom of all human progress, that of digestion. The staple food of the inhabitants of a Southern farming region was much heartier than any to which I had been accustomed.
"Any other sane person makes the same guess," Mr. Massey replied. The inventor's face grew sad. He had dreamed of John Massey's response, a dream built on sand, as perhaps he should have known. But hope eternal sprang in his heart, and the belief that every man wished the best for his brother. The silence continued. To break it Mr. Massey turned to David.
Tony did not know but she thought if there really was a God he would understand and forgive the soul of Alan Massey for that last splendid sacrifice of his in the name of love. And whatever happened Tony Holiday knew that she would bear forever the mark of Alan Massey's stormy, strange, and in the end all-beautiful love. Perhaps some day the lighted lamp might be brought in.
"Jack went up to Massey's the other night to try to get his old job back, and Massey turned him out of the store. Told him his breath smothered the smell of iodoform in the back shop," and Marty giggled. "That's how Jack come to get a pint and wander up into our sheep fold to sleep it off." "Oh, dear, Marty," sighed Janice, "this drinking in Polktown is getting to be a dreadful thing.
Owen, who was now able to be constantly with her, offered, not unsuccessfully, all the consolation in his power. Captain Tracy, being now well enough to go about, removed with her to their own cottage, situated a short distance from Waterford, and within a mile of Mrs Massey's abode. It was a pretty spot.
It was meat to his soul to see this lordly young aristocrat racked with misery and dread, to hold him in his power as a cat holds a mouse, which it can crush and crunch at any moment if it will. Alan Massey's mood filled Jim Roberts with exquisite enjoyment, enjoyment such as a gourmand feels on setting his teeth in some rare morsel of food. "I know," he nodded. "It works like that often.
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