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Updated: June 25, 2025
Rawley took the cheroot from his mouth, threw back his head, and laughed mirthlessly, ironically. Then suddenly he stopped and looked round the room till his eyes rested on a portrait-drawing which hung on the wall opposite the window, through which the sun poured.
She's had enough to put up with in me; but at the worst she could pass me by on the other side, and there would be an end. It would have been said that Flood Rawley had got his deserts. It's different with you." His voice changed, softened. "Dan, I made a pledge to her that I'd never play cards again for money while I lived, and it wasn't a thing to take on without some cogitation.
"So help me, Flood," was the frightened, whispered reply, "I'll make it up to you somehow, some day. I'll pay you back." Rawley caught up his cap from the table. "Steady steady. Don't go at a fence till you're sure of your seat, Dan," he said. Then with a long look at the portrait on the wall, and an exclamation which the other did not hear, he left the room with a set, determined face.
"She'll be rich when I've done with it. You're a lucky man ay, you're lucky." Rawley was about to tell the old man what the two thousand dollars was for, but a fresh wave of repugnance passed over him, and, hastily drinking another dipperful of water, he opened the door. He looked back. The old man was crouching forward, lapping milk from the great bowl, his beard dripping.
She wore four heavily quilted and padded gowns, one over another, and when she and Jeneka were summoned from their apartments and went out to meet the company under the trees, they were almost like twins and both duck-like in general outlines. First they met Mrs. Rawley Plumston, a very tall, bony and dignified woman in gray, wearing a most flowery hat. To every man of Morovenia Mrs.
And, after a pause, during which he continued to survey the younger man: "What name?" he inquired, as though Hamil had been persistently attempting to inform him. Hamil told him good-naturedly. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hamil. My name is Rawley probably the name is familiar to you? Ambrose Rawley" he coughed "by profession a botanist."
He must take his chances; and it was the only chance in which he had hope now, unless he appealed for humanity's sake, for the girl's sake, and told the real truth. It might avail. Well, that would be the last resort. "For small stakes?" said the grimy quack in a gloating voice. Rawley nodded and then added, "We stop at eleven o'clock, unless I've lost or won all before that."
I'd not pay up alone. The West would crack holy Heaven, I know enough to make it sick. Go on and see! I've got the West in my hand." He opened and shut his fingers with a grimace of cruelty which shook Rawley in spite of himself.
Flood Rawley called her the Pied Piper of Jansen, and, indeed, she had a voice that fluted and piped, and yet had so whimsical a note that the hardest faces softened at the sound of it; and she did not keep its best notes for the few. She was impartial, almost impersonal; no woman was her enemy, and every man was her friend and nothing more.
Smoke came in placid puffs from the cheroot Rawley was smoking very hard, but with a judicial meditation, as it seemed. "Yes, but if you want a thing so bad that, to get it, you'll face the devil or the Beast of Revelations, it's likely to come to you." "You call me a beast?" The reddish-brown face grew black like that of a Bedouin in his rage.
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