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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Will you tell me what books I ought to buy? I have two dollars." The other looked at him with keen light eyes. "That amount will not buy you many books," he said. "You should enter some lawyer's office where you may have access to his library. You spoke of the Three-Notched Road. Are you from Albemarle?" "Yes, sir. I am Gideon Rand's son." "Indeed! Gideon Rand! Then Mary Wayne was your mother?"
"When I am a man " he said aloud; and again, "When I am a man " The eyes in the pool looked at him yearningly; the leaves from the golden hickories fell upon the water and hid him from himself. In the distance a fox barked, and Gideon Rand's deep voice came rolling through the wood: "Lewis! Lewis!" The boy dipped the pail, lifted it brimming, and rose from his knees.
Cary crumpled the letter in his hand. Rand's speech perplexed him no longer. That was it that was it! His breath came quickly. He had builded better he had builded better than he knew, when he wrote that paper signed "Aurelius"!
Getting ready to toss Pierre to the wolves if her father were in danger, Rand suspected. He hastened to reassure her. "Rivers was still alive when your father reached home, last evening," he told her. "That's been established." She breathed her obvious relief. If Gresham had left home after Rand's departure with Philip Cabot, she didn't know it.
Rand took the opposite place. The seconds presented the loaded pistols. As Cary took his from his brother, their hands touched that of the younger was marble cold. Skelton Jones crossed to his principal's right, and Fairfax Cary moved also to his proper place. There was a minute's pause while the sun shone and the leaves drifted down, then, "Are you ready, gentlemen?" cried Rand's second.
As for me, generally I keep my professional visits to myself; but " he laid his hand on Rand's arm "if I find out you're putting on any airs to that poor creature, if, on my next visit, her lips or her pulse tell me you haven't been acting on the square to her, I'll drop a hint to drunken old Nixon where his daughter is hidden. I reckon she could stand his brutality better than yours. Good-night!"
It was a smooth, pinkly-shaven face, decorated with octagonal rimless glasses; an entirely unremarkable face; the face of the type that used to be labeled "Babbitt." The corner of Rand's mind that handled such data subconsciously filed his description: forty-five to fifty, one-eighty, five feet eight, hair brown and thinning, eyes blue.
Garcia sprang forward and slapped Rand's face so that the face burned and the sound of the blow was like a pistol shot in the quiet room. And as Rand's return threshing blow sought him he sprang away, laughing. "For calling me Greaser," he cried lightly. "When I have said out loud that I am Ramon Garcia." Bellowing curses Rand charged at him again.
You know what that would do to me, in town. I just can't get mixed up in this, at all. I want you to see to it that I don't." "That sounds like a large order." The ash was growing on Rand's cigar; he took another heavy drag at it. "But why necessarily you? Rivers had plenty of other enemies." "Yes, but, dammit, they weren't all in his shop, last evening. Just me. And one other.
Every periodical that came into the house he scanned for advertisements of proprietary remedies, and his manner sometimes suggested a complete willingness to contract asthma or sciatica in order to have an excuse for testing the cures so glowingly endorsed. The spectacle of his sister, becomingly arrayed in the lining of the new gown, temporarily eclipsed the claims of Rand's Remedy.
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