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Updated: June 1, 2025
Rita's delicate, swiftly changing color, her almost ethereal figure, her intense nervous energy he ascribed to a delicate constitution. She wondered if she would ever dare to tell him the truth; if she ought to tell him. Pyne came to her dressing-room just before the performance began.
If you don't, I'm a Dutchman." "If I do, you'll have a taste of it too, old salt-water, for we're in the same boat," retorted the young red-coat. "True, but we ain't in the same body;" returned the sailor. "I should just like to see your four-futt legs wobblin' about in a nor'-west gale. You'd sing another song." "Come, Macleod," cried Moses Pyne, "tip us a Gaelic song."
His was that rare type of character whose possessor remains master of his vices. Following the fourth pipe Pyne, after the second, had ceased to trouble to repeat his feat of legerdemain, "The sleep" claimed Mrs. Sin. Her languorous eyes closed, and her face assumed that rapt expression of Buddha-like beatitude which Rita had observed at Kilfane's flat.
"No, thanks," replied Pyne. "I rarely smoke anything but these." "Never seen that kind of packet before," declared Gray. "What brand are they?" "No particular brand. They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe." Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir Lucien came at once to the point.
Sir Lucien realized that he was in peril of losing his head over this tantalizingly pretty girl who gracefully kept him at a distance, fencing with an adroitness which was baffling, and Sir Lucien Pyne had set out with no intention of doing anything so preposterous as falling in love. Keenly intuitive, Rita scented danger and made a bold move.
Recovering from his fit of abstraction, Pyne, casting a final keen glance at the sleeper, walked out of the room. He looked along the carpeted corridor in the direction of the cubicles, paused, and then opened the heavy door masking the recess behind the cupboard. Next opening the false back of the cupboard, he passed through to the lumber-room beyond, and partly closed the second door.
The Assistant Commissioner, hand pressed to brow, began to study a document which lay before him. "Here we are," said Kerry, sotto voce. "Pyne, Sir Lucien St. Aubyn, fourth baronet, son of General Sir Christian Pyne, K.C.B. H'm! Born Malta.... Oriel College; first in classics.... H'm. Blue.... India, Burma.... Contested Wigan.... attached British Legation. ... H'm!..."
I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, big eyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim gink with stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extra thick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' house but it seems he wrote things himself.
"You're not sure even of that, man," said Moses Pyne, who was beginning to give way to despair, "for may-hap they'll only dig a hole in the sand, an' shove us in." "More likely to leave the dogs an' vultures to clear us out o' the way," said Simkin, whose powers of hope were being tested almost beyond endurance.
Do you doubt my friendship?" Rita's maid came in to assist her in changing for the third act, and Pyne went out of the room. But, in spite of his assurances, Rita could not forget that fierce, almost savage expression which had appeared upon his face when she had told him of Mrs. Sin's visit.
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