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He seemed to know exactly how she felt, for he propped her head high with a skill that she found infinitely comforting, and drew the window-curtains to shade her eyes. Then very quietly he proceeded to remove her shoes. "Thank you very much," murmured Olga. "Don't bother!" He came and stood beside her and again felt her pulse. "Look here," he said.
What makes this Fenger hang around so? I'm going to tell him to keep away, some day. The way he stares at you. Let's go somewhere to-night, Fan. Or have some people in. I can't sit about after I've played. Olga always used to have a supper party, or something." "All right, Ted. Would you like the theater?" For the first time in her life she felt a little whisper of sympathy for the despised Olga.
More than once during those minutes his cheery laugh made itself heard again. He had a hundred and one things to say, not one of which could Olga ever remember afterwards save the last, when, holding her close to him, he whispered, "And if I don't come out of it, sweetheart, you're to marry another fellow; see? No damn' sentimental rot on my account, mind!
The thought of what John Galbraith's disgust would be, in spite of his good-natured assurance she needn't hurry, if she really kept him waiting, set her at her task with flying fingers. "There's no use hurrying," Olga commented on this burst of speed, "because you're going to wait for me. This is my night.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Max," she began mockingly. "To what am I indebted?" Errington hesitated a moment. Then, his keen eyes resting piercingly on hers, he said quietly: "I want to know how we stand, Olga. Are you trying to make mischief for me with my wife?" "Then she's asked you?" exclaimed Olga triumphantly. "Diana has asked me nothing.
Rough weather makes short work of poetry and sentiment. The "wet sheet" and "flowing sea" of the poet have a significance quite the reverse of poetical when one discovers the "wet sheet" in his bed and the "flowing sea" all over the cabin floor, and our experience illustrates not so much the sublimity as the unpleasantness and discomfort of a storm at sea. BRIG "OLGA," AT SEA, July 27, 1865.
I suppose supper is ready. I'll come down." They went down together, to find Violet thrumming her mandolin in the twilight for the benefit of Max who was stretched at full length on the drawing-room sofa. The three boys were scudding about the garden like puppies. As Olga and Nick entered, Violet looked up from her instrument. "I'm wondering if Sir Kersley would like to adopt me as well as Max.
Midway between the door and the ornate Empire bed Captain Stewart lay huddled and writhing upon the floor, and Olga Nilssen stood upright beside him, gazing down upon him quite calmly. In her right hand, which hung at her side, she held a little flat black automatic pistol of the type known as Brownings and they look like toys, but they are not. Ste.
"My darling, I will!" Quick and passionate came the answer. The time had come. For a few moments the arms that held her tightened to an almost fierce embrace; then slowly relaxed. "Dear heart, I knew you would," said Violet. She leaned back upon her pillow as Olga gently let her go, and through the deepening dusk she watched her with eyes of perfect trust.
Oh, Olga, be your better self, and " "You know my price," she said between her teeth. "I can't pay it I can't." "Then you must be content to see her ruined." "You are a devil!" "And you are most polite. No; I am a woman who loves you, and who is determined to have you at any cost." "Can you really save Anne?" "I can." "Will you give me time to think?" A flash of joy crossed her face.
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