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Updated: May 11, 2025
The fun of hearing the Dowager lie and knowing the Bishop beside himself with the pain of deception was too much for me. I could see she didn't dare trust her Edward with my sad story. "Ho! ho! The Bishop that's good. No, my dear Miss Murieson, if this lady's your mother, why, I must be at least, I ought to be, your father.
Hello, Henrietta, back so soon from the opera?" roared Edward, in a big, husky voice. He'd had more since we saw him, but he walked straight as the Bishop himself, and he's a dear little ramrod. "Ah!" his eyes lit up at sight of me "ah, Miss Miss of course, I've met the young lady, Henrietta, but hang me if I haven't forgotten her name." "Miss Miss Murieson," lied the old lady, glibly.
"Why, Miss Miss Murieson, I'll see you back all the way to the college door. Not at all, not at all. Charmed. First, we'll have dinner or, first I'll telephone out there and tell 'em you're with us, so that if there's any rule or anything of that sort " The telephone! This wretched Edward with half his wits gave me more trouble than the Bishop and the Dowager put together.
The same red-faced, big-necked old fellow, husky-voiced with whisky now, just as he was before. He must have been keeping it up steadily ever since the day out in the country when Tom lifted his watch. It'll take more than one lost watch to cure Edward. "I followed you home, Miss Murieson," he said, grabbing me by the hand and pushing the door closed behind him. "Or is it Miss Murieson?
No not Nance Olden ... not ... "Tell her, please," I said firmly, "that I'm Miss Murieson, of the X-Ray, and that the city editor has sent me here to see her." That did it. Hooray for the power of the press! She showed me into a long parlor, and I sat down and waited. It was cool and quiet and softly pretty in that long parlor.
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