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Updated: June 5, 2025
They did not pause to reason that they had begun at a stroke which meant just a degree more endurance than most men are equal to, but they were sanguine that their ship was to hold a function in their honor. Just astern the Chicago's boat the Olympia's coxswain was keeping up his steady "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!
Well, THEY had an idea of what the Olympia's men were worth when it came to the scratch and a few things were privately moving forward which might have made the Chicago's personnel sit up and take notice had they found time to do so.
The scorners came in together Moe Tchatzsky, the syndicalist and direct actionist, and Jane Schott, the writer of impressionistic prose and they sat silently sneering on a couch. Istra rose, nodded at Mr. Wrenn, and departed, despite Olympia's hospitable shrieks after them of "Oh stay! It's only a little after ten. Do stay and have something to eat." Istra shut the door resolutely.
We went a charming drive through this smiling, well-wooded, well-cottaged country, to the Malcolms: met Colonel Malcolm and his eldest sister Olympia on horseback at the door, just returned from their ride, and straight Fanny fell in love with Olympia's horse "such a beautiful animal!" But I care much more for the Colonel! charming indeed, unaffected, polite, and kind.
Caroline stood looking at the woman, white and still, her large eyes widening, all her features in a tumult. Then she fell upon her knees, covered her face with both hands, and cried out: "Oh, my God! is this good man my father? Are these the thrills of joy that a child knows for its parent?" A man who had opened the door of Olympia's boudoir was arrested on the threshold by these words.
"Do you wish me to renew our strife?" "Long live the noble Countess de Soissons!" was the prompt reply. And, without waiting for a third suggestion, they shouted again and again, "Long live the Countess de Soissons!" Olympia's flashing eyes rested proudly on her son. "I thank you, Eugene: you have avenged me effectually.
I only wish he was your father." "He could not be kinder if he was," said Caroline. Just then the door opened, and Olympia's French maid looked through. "Madame is in the drawing-room, and waits for mademoiselle." "I will come! I will come!" exclaimed Caroline, breathlessly, and she hurried down stairs.
"If we can be of any service to you, Miss Sprague," the young man said, handing Kate back the permit, made out in Olympia's name, which Kate had never thought of, "you can always reach us through the surgeon-general's office." He handed her a card with his own and his comrade's name in pencil.
So her impulse of unbounded generosity deceived him utterly, and having some shrinking curiosity regarding Daniel Yates' daughter, he resolved to accept Olympia's invitation. Of course, Clara found a dozen absurd reasons for quarreling with him that day, not one of which seemed to relate to Olympia; yet that beautiful woman was the root of them all, if Hepworth could have understood it.
Olympia eagerly assented anything was preferable to this mute misery of her mother and Merry's sepulchral struggles to be conversational and tearless. They drove through bewildering numbers of tents, most of them, Olympia's sharp eyes noted, marked "U.S.A.," and she reflected, almost angrily, that the chief part of war, after all, was pillage.
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