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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Yes you DO!" said Fifi, with surprising emphasis for so weak a little voice. "You need first a good girl friend, one lots older and better than me one just like Sharlee. O if only you and she would be friends! she'd be the very best in the world! And then you need men friends, plenty of them, and to go around with them, and everything. You ought to like men more, Mr. Queed!
Queed, though he knew the history of Ireland very well, could not recall any parallel to the United Confederate Veterans in the annals of that country. Still, a man capable of distorting history as Nicolovius distorted it could always find a parallel to anything anywhere. When the meal was about half over, Queed said: "You slept badly last night, didn't you?" "Yes my old enemy.
"Who do you think I am!" repeated Surface, bringing his twitching face nearer, his voice breaking to sudden shrillness. "Who do you think I am, I say?" Queed thought the old man had gone off his head, and indeed he looked it. He began soothingly: "You are " "I'm your father! Your father, do you hear!" cried Surface. "You're my son Henry G. Surface, Jr.!"
"You contradict yourself twice in the same breath! You just said that you would let the courts settle that question " "As to the Weyland estate's claim, yes. But I do not let the courts regulate my own sense of honor." Surface, elbows on the table, buried his face in his hands. Queed slowly rose, a heart of lead in his breast. He had failed.
But just when she was safely by, her ears were astonished by his voice speaking her name. "How do you do, Miss Weyland?" She turned, surprised by a familiar note in the deep tones, looked, and yes, there could be no doubt of it it was "Mr. Queed! Why, how do you do!" They shook hands.
To run the house, he had, for the present, his four hundred and fifty dollars in bank, saved out of his salary. This, he figured, would last nine weeks. Possibly Surface would last longer than that: that remained to be seen. Late on a March afternoon, Queed finished a review article his second since he had left the newspaper, four days before and took it himself to the post-office.
If you will put your shoulder to the wheel just once more, I am confident that you will push us through. I shall be eternally grateful, and so will the State. For it is a question of genuine moral importance to us all." Mr. Dayne received assurance that Mr. Queed would do all that he could for him.
You're committing slow suicide by over-work. That's what it is." "As it happens, I am doing nothing of the sort. I have been working exactly this way for twelve years." "Then all the bigger is the overdue bill nature's got against you, and when she does hit you she'll hit to kill. Where'll your mind and your studies be when we've planted your body down under the sod?" Mr. Queed made no reply.
Not to save his soul could Queed have avoided seeing it: Henry G. Surface, Esq., 36 Washington Street. There was a dead silence: a silence that from matter-of-fact suddenly became unendurable. Queed handed the envelope to Nicolovius. Nicolovius glanced at it, while pretending not to, and his eyelash flickered; his face was about the color of cigar ashes. Queed walked away, waiting.
"I hear," said West, "that that little scientist I made you a present of last year has made a ten-strike." "Queed? An extraordinary thing," said the Colonel, relighting his cigar. "I was on the point of discharging him, you remember, with the hearty approval of the directors. His stuff was dismal, abysmal, and hopeless.
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