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Updated: May 7, 2025
They arrive in the parlor-car. The shades are drawn over the lamps; travellers are stiff, drowsy, and asleep in the big red arm-chairs. "Change places," Raoul whispers to Maurice; "sit beside her. I am going to sit by the mother; I must speak to her." Maurice lent himself to this manoeuvre with perfect docility, Martha did not understand it. Why did he abandon her?
"You hurt me by such words, Barney," he protested. "Close-fisted! My boy, do you know I've given away nearly all my ready money in the last six months to the needy and suffering? I've seen big, fat-stomached, overfed men lolling in their parlor-car seats while weak invalids, wretched and faint from the strain of trouble, have sat in the common cars.
The mouth, too tightly set, too drooping that expressed it all. To educate such a one in the ways of innocent frivolity! When the porter's "last call for luncheon" brought that flutter of satisfaction by which a bored parlor-car welcomes even such a trivial diversion as food, Dr. Blake waited a fair interval for her toilet preparations, and followed toward the dining-car.
Sylvia colored, but her honesty was fearless. "I don't know what a Pullman is," she said. Rose stared for a second. "Oh, a parlor-car," she said. "A great many people always say parlor-car." Rose was almost apologetic. "Did you come in a parlor-car?" asked Sylvia. Rose wondered why her voice was so amazed, even aggressive. "Why, of course; I always do," said Rose.
As Gaites shot through the doorway toward his train, he added, in an insolent drawl, "Miss Des mond!" Gaites was so furious when he got back to the smoking-room of the parlor-car that he was sorry for several miles that he had not turned back and kicked the man, even if it lost him his train. But this was only while he was under the impression that he was furious with the man.
To JOHN DUMONT you, only seventeen oh, Pauline " And Olivia gave way to tears for the first time since she was a baby. Scarborough was neither at supper nor at breakfast Pauline left without seeing him again. When the sign-board on a station platform said "5.2 miles to St. X," Pauline sank back in her chair in the parlor-car with blanched face.
Irene was on the train bound for Charleston. She was seated in one of the big easy-chairs in the parlor-car, idly scanning a magazine and looking out at the dingy and sordid outskirts of Atlanta through which the train was moving with increasing speed. The conductor passed, punched her ticket, and went on.
The railroad trip up here will be very hard on you, as the trains are usually late and the porters and conductors are notorious for their gruffness and it is awfully hard to get parlor-car seats and you know what sitting in a day-coach means.
The old station master had come out of the station and was hurrying to meet them with the message, now duly enclosed in an envelope. He gave it to Matt and promptly turned his back on him. Matt tore it open, and read: "Impossible to identify parlor-car passengers." The telegram was signed "Operator," and was dated at Wellwater. It fell blankly on their tense feeling.
"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should she send parlor-car checks too?" "It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church now"
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