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Updated: May 16, 2025
But I guess you and I will have some more talk after a while, after Theodore Watling gets to be United States Senator. Give him my regards, and and come in when I can do anything for you, Mr. Paret." Thanking him, I groped my way downstairs and let myself out by a side door Monahan had shown me into an alleyway, thus avoiding the saloon.
It was little he knew of horses, and he rather feared them, as does a sailing man. But he went, nevertheless. Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him. "It's absurd," said Fanny. "It's the kind of thing that doesn't happen." "It's simple enough, really," he answered. "I saw Ella Monahan in Chicago, and she told me all she knew, and something of what she had guessed.
Ella Monahan had finished her work and had gone back to Chicago four days before Fanny was ready to leave. In those four days Fanny had scoured the city from the Palisades to Pell street. I don't know how she found her way about. It was a sort of instinct with her. She seemed to scent the picturesque. She never for a moment neglected her work.
The saloon, on the ground floor, had two apartments; the bar-room proper where Mike Monahan, chamberlain of the establishment, was wont to stand, red faced and smiling, to greet the courtiers, big and little, the party workers, the district leaders, the hangers-on ready to be hired, the city officials, the police judges, yes, and the dignified members of state courts whose elections depended on Mr.
It was the solitary Republican of the United Irish day, Robert Holmes, coming to discharge his last duty to the great Republican of a younger century. The applause of the galleries was hushed by the crier's voice "Silence! take off your hats"; and on the right stalked in the gaunt figure of James Henry Monahan. Triumph, animosity and fear marked his night-bird face.
Laurence B. Benet, Charles Carroll, F.W. Monahan, and I.V. Twyeffort. I met in the Rue de la Paix two Irish cavalry soldiers, who had become detached from their squadron during the operations north of Paris. "The last place we remember fighting at was Copenhagen," said one of the men. But on being further questioned, it turned out that Copenhagen was Tipperary dialect for Compiegne.
I might give his real name without danger of hurting any person's feelings but one; but, for the sake of that one, who will thus be out of the reach of my narrative, I speak of him under another name. Having to choose a name, I will take a thoroughly Irish one, and call my correspondent Patrick Monahan.
Her hands were clasped tightly on the desk, and her eyes stared ahead in a puzzled, resentful, bewildered way. Something inside her was saying over and over again: "You lied to him on that very first day. That placed you. That stamped you. Now he thinks you're rotten all the way through. You lied on the very first day." Ella Monahan poked her head in at the door.
"Goodness knows I've never pretended to be a beauty," Fanny said that evening, in conversation with Ella Monahan. "But I've always thought I had my good points. By the time I'd reached Forty-second street I wouldn't have given two cents for my chances of winning a cave man on a desert island."
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