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Updated: May 18, 2025
On his urgent recommendation, therefore, the managing editor of the Daily Truth consented to run Clifford Matheson's full-page advertisement and to insert the interview, contingent on his depositing with Martin a cheque for £250,000 to indemnify the paper against a possible libel action on the part of Lars Larssen.
A fierce joy mingled with his wrath and disgust. This must be this should be the end! Was such a form made for sordid violence and strife? Her life just breathed against his he could have borne her so for ever. But as soon as they had revived her, and she opened her eyes in Mrs. Matheson's sitting-room at the hotel, she burst into a cry of misery. "Where's Gertrude! let me go to her! Where am I?"
With that exception, his account was a truthful and detailed story of all that had happened. He concluded with: "I 'phoned up Mr Matheson's office without telling my name and asked if he was in or had been to the office this morning. They said no. I got his hotel address from them and 'phoned the hotel. They also could tell me nothing about Mr Matheson."
Nonsense, Mither!" said her son hastily, knowing well how thoroughly capable she was of not only going to a meeting of Union workers but also of speaking her mind if in her judgment they were guilty of transgressing the Sabbath law. "The meeting will be just as religious as Mr. Matheson's anyway." "A'm no sae sure," said his mother grimly. Whether religious in the sense understood by Mrs.
He criticised the spacing and the general lay-out of the letter already typed, showed Dean how to imitate Matheson's little habits of typing, and arranged that the letters dictated should be retyped on hotel paper at Cherbourg and posted there. Dean was to catch a night train to Cherbourg, take steamer ticket there for Quebec, and proceed to Montreal.
The financier had been drawn towards one special problem of science, and on this he had studied deeply the last few years. From his studies, an idea had developed which could only be worked out by experiments. Many years of patient research would be needed, for this thought-child of Matheson's was a master-idea, an idea which meant the exploring of a practically uncharted sea of knowledge.
There was nothing to be gained at this stage by cross-examining the secretary. "That will do, Sylvester." The secretary left the room. Larssen leant forward across the desk once more and snarled: "There's the facts of the case as they'll go before the divorce court." "Do you know that Miss Verney is blind?" There was a hoarseness in Matheson's voice; he cleared his throat to relieve it.
Matheson, in his blaze of anger, had turned Olive definitely and finally against himself. There was no call for Larssen to add to the command of her words. Matheson's anger was spent. A great tiredness crept over his will. He could fight no more. Larssen and Olive had beaten him down beaten him down through his anxiety to shield Elaine.
Many thoughts were buzzing through his mind as they exchanged the commonplaces of a railway station good-bye from either side of a compartment window. Olive's last words were: "Remember, I'm expecting you to bring your brother with you to-morrow." A very tired look was in Matheson's eyes, and a weary droop on his shoulders, as the train pulled out and he was left alone on the platform.
In some respects they were as unlike each other as two men could possibly be: in other respects their lives are like sister ships; they seem exactly alike. Especially do they resemble each other in their earliest religious experiences. We have heard Weaver's story: let us turn to Matheson's. Weaver, at the time of his conversion, was twenty-five: Matheson is twenty-two.
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