Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
Had she been able to search Peterman's mind she would never have taken part in the dastardly thing he had planned. Had she been able to read him she would have quickly discovered the real motive he had in sending her. She would have discovered the furious jealousy and wounded vanity which meant her to be a prime instrument in the wrecking of Bull Sternford and his mills.
She drew a folded paper from the bosom of her frock. "Would you let them send it for me wireless?" she asked timidly. "It's it's to Mr. Peterman." All Bull's desire to smile had passed. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "If you wish it. It shall be sent right off." His tone had suddenly lost its warmth. It seemed as if the mention of Peterman's name had destroyed his goodwill.
Do you get it? It's smart. I guess there's a bigger brain behind it than Peterman's." The camp-boss spat into the stove. It was his one expression of disgust. Bull rose from his chair. "Here, I need food. So does my boy out there with the dogs. We'll take it after I'm through with the men. It's snowing like hell, but I pull out two hours from now.
He took the chair usually occupied by his visitors. "You will pay ha'f a million dollars for this thing?" he demanded, to re-assure himself. Self-satisfaction looked out of the eyes of the man behind the desk. "More if necessary." "By God! You must hate this boy, Sternford." Peterman's feelings had broken from under his control. "Sternford? Psha! It is not Sternford. No."
Whatever insane hatred lay behind Hellbeam's purpose, it was not one whit more insensate than Elas Peterman's feelings against the man who had come down from Sachigo at Nancy's bidding. Suddenly he looked up and glanced at the man occupying the chair that was his. Hellbeam was still gazing at the window, pre-occupied with his own thoughts. "You can leave this thing in my hands, sir," he said.
"I had my supper," he hurriedly fabricated, "at Peterman's. It's nice in here, Lettice, with you and all the things around. It has a comfortable look. You're right pretty, Lettice, too." The unexpected compliment brought a flush to her cheeks. "I'm not pretty now," she replied; "I'm all pulled out." General Jackson ambled into the room, sat between them.
The thought of his dwelling, with Lattice's importunate fancies and complaints, was distasteful to him. A long-drawn-out evening in the monotonous sitting room, with the grim form of Mrs. Caley in the background, was insupportable. There was no light in the office of the Bugle, but there was a pale yellow blur in the lower windows of Peterman's hotel.
You had no right to be flung into this thing. And only a man of Peterman's lack of scruple could have done such a thing. Well, I'm not going to preach a long sermon, but I want to tell you some of the things I've got in my mind before I get the sleep I need. God knows that none of this thing you're blaming yourself for lies at your door. It would all have happened without you.
Supper was in progress at Peterman's hotel; as Gordon and Meta Beggs left the buggy they heard the rattle of dishes within. She walked a few steps, then stopped, was about to speak, but she saw that Gordon had followed her, and turned and led the way to the steps giving to the gallery above. Gordon Makimmon followed her without reason, without plan, almost subconsciously.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking