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Updated: August 25, 2024
It's only that she used to be able to think of only one thing, and now What do you suppose it is, Mag? If you know, don't you dare to tell me. When we got to the flat Obermuller was already there. At the door I pulled out my key and opened it with a flourish. "Won't you come in, gentlemen, and spend the evening?" I asked. They followed me in. First to the parlor.
Suppose he got into that combine with Heffelfinger and Dixon and Weinstock?" "What're you talking about?" "Well, it's what I've heard." "But Heffelfinger and Dixon and Weinstock are all in with us; who told you that fairy story?" "Obermuller himself." The little fellow laughed. His is a creaky, almost silent little laugh; if a spider could laugh he'd laugh that way.
He loves it, Mag; he loves it as Molly loved that child of hers that kept her nursing it all the years of its life, and left her feeling that the world had been robbed of everything there was for a woman to do when it died. Obermuller has told me all the plot. In fact, he's worked it out on me. I know it as it is, as he wanted it to be, and as it's going to be.
But suddenly, unaccountably, there came a queer, sad look over his face, and his eyes wouldn't meet mine. I looked at him puzzled. "Tell me what it is," I said. "You evidently forget that you have already told me you are the wife of Mr. Mr. Ober " "Obermuller. Oh, that's all right." I laughed aloud. I was so relieved.
I couldn't bear it. I made a rush for the door. He got there, too, and catching me by the shoulder, he lifted his fist. But it never fell, Mag. I think I could kill a man who struck me. But just as I shut my eyes and shivered away from him, while I waited for the blow, a knock came at the door and Fred Obermuller walked in. "Eh? Oh! Excuse me. I didn't know there was anybody else.
Of course, he has told me, and we agreed how the thing should be done. As he'd write, you know, he'd read the thing over to me, and I " "Fine fine! A reading from that fool Obermuller would be enough to open the eyes of a clever woman. I'd like to read that comedy yes?" "But Obermuller would never " "But Olden might " "What?"
"They're fooling him a bunch or two. Never you mind Obermuller. He's a dead one." "Oh, he said that you thought they were in with you, but that nothing but a written agreement would hold men like that. And that you hadn't got." "Smart fellow, that Obermuller. He'd have been a good man to have in the business if it hadn't been for those independent ideas he's got. He's right; it takes "
He looked like an unhealthy little frog, with his bald head, his thin-lipped mouth that laughed, while the wrinkles rayed away from his cold, sneering eyes that had no smile in them. "I I wouldn't like to make an enemy of a man like Obermuller, Mr. Tausig." "Bah! Ain't I told you he's on the toboggan?" "But you never can tell with a man like that.
Paul Gates' house on the night of April twenty-seventh." "What!" It was Obermuller. He had pushed the curtains aside; the crashing of the orchestra had prevented our hearing the clatter of the rings. He had pushed by the man standing there, had come in and he had heard. "Nance!" he cried. "I don't believe a word of it." He turned in his quick way to the men. "What are your orders?"
The two fellows threw off their coats and searched that through and through not a drawer did they miss, not a bit of furniture did they fail to move. Obermuller and I sat there guying them as they pried about in their shirt-sleeves. That Trust business has taken the life out of him of late.
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