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Updated: June 5, 2025
"I've got quite a good job for you this afternoon, Mordan something quite in your line," said Mr. Charles N. Pierce one morning.
You, your own self; what do you think about it? But forgive me for heckling. Won't you sit down? Or will you come into the study? Aunt is in there." We went into the study, a cheerful, bright room, with low wicker chairs, and a big, littered writing-table. "Mr. Mordan doesn't believe it," said Constance Grey, when I had shaken hands with her aunt.
"Mr. Mordan, I believe?" I admitted the charge with my best smile. Mr. Pierce ignored the smile, and said: "University man?" Accepting his cue as to brevity, I said: "Yes. Corpus Christi, Cambridge." He pursed his thin lips. "Ah well," he said, "you'll get over that." In his way he was perfectly right; but his way was as coldly offensive as any I had ever met with. "Well, Mr.
It was practically squashed by the arrival of the special editions. The people seemed pretty considerably muddled about it, so I suppose those who arranged it all may be said to have scored their point." "So you don't believe it?" "Well, I believe it is generally admitted to be a gigantic hoax, is it not?" "But, my dear Mr. Mordan, how how wonderful English people are!
I was thinking of you on the side of Barebarrow the night before last." "And I was thinking of you, Dicky Mordan, yesterday afternoon, when I met the present rector of Tarn Regis at a friend's house." It was a long strong handshake that we exchanged.
"I rather guess I will go to bed," said Martha Wallingford. "You must be weary," said Margaret. "I am not tired," said Martha Wallingford, "but it seems to me as dull here as in South Mordan, Illinois. I might as well go to bed and to sleep as sit here any longer." When Margaret had returned from the guest room, her husband looked at her almost in a bewildered fashion.
Barbara's hand-to-hand engagement took about one second longer. Moose Mordan was big and strong; and, for such a big man, was fairly fast physically. If he had had time to get his muscles ready, he might have had a chance. His thought processes, however, were lamentably slow; and Barbara Warner Deston was almost as fast physically as she was mentally.
Mordan, I've only three things to say. Reports for this paper must be sound English; they must be live stories; they must be short. You might ask a boy to show you the reporters' room. You'll get your assignment presently. As a day man, you'll be here from ten to six. That's all." And his blade of a face descended into the heart of a sheaf of papers.
She had a faint hope that the room might intimidate this Western girl, but instead of intimidation there was exultation. She looked about her very coolly, but afterward, upon her return to East Mordan, Illinois, she bragged a good deal about it. The room was really very charming and rather costly.
This was how I saw Sylvia's religion, and, though she was sweetly kind and sympathetic to me, Dick Mordan, I was strangely chilled and perturbed by realization of the fact that nothing human really weighed with her, unless her own soul was human; that the people, our fellow men and women, of whose situation and welfare I thought so much, were far less to Sylvia than the Early Fathers and the Saints; that humanity had even less import for her, was less real, than to me, was the fascination of St.
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