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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Madam," said I, "whatever your motives may be, I accept your offer to fight on my side, and the sooner the battle begins the better. The young lady to whom I wish to offer myself in marriage, and with whom I am most eager to meet, is Miss Sylvia Raynor, a novice, or something of the kind, in the House of Martha."
And what he had told them had been sufficient to bring one of the partners out to investigate. Nor had it taken this practical student of human nature long to realize the honesty of these folk, just as it had needed but one glance of comparison between Rosebud and the portrait of Marjorie Raynor, taken a few weeks before her disappearance, and which he had brought with him, to do the rest.
Raynor either would not or could not tell me the particulars. I infer that Dr. Barritz is thought don't you dare to laugh! a magician. Could anything be finer than that? An ordinary mystery is not, of course, so good as a scandal, but when it relates to dark and dreadful practices to the exercise of unearthly powers could anything be more piquant?
Raynor Three gripped Bart's hand. He said, in a voice that shook, "All right, Bart. You're your father's son. I can't say more than that. I haven't any right to stop you." "All right, Bart, today we'll let you look at yourself," Raynor Three said. Bart smiled under the muffling layers of bandage around his face. His hands were bandaged, too, and he had not been permitted to look in a mirror.
"I don't want to seem glad that your brother is sick," she said, "but it's awfully nice to have company. I get so lonely when Bert is away." That evening they all assembled in Rex's room Mrs. Raynor was a widow, so the family at home consisted only of herself and Florence and Miles, seated at the foot of the bed, told the story of his life. "I don't know where I was born," he began.
I wish I had known before of this brotherhood notion, and of what you intended to do, and I would have told you, as I tell you now, that in this world we must accept situations. That is the only way in which we can get along at all. Sylvia Raynor has gone, soul and body, into this Martha House, which is the same as a convent, and to all intents and purposes she is the same as a nun.
"Did you see anything of Miss Raynor in all that time?" I inquired. "Yes," he replied; "she was on deck a great deal, and I had several conversations with her." "With her alone?" I asked. "Yes," said he. "Mrs.
"It seems to me," she remarked, "that, as you decline to recognize the name given to that young woman by our institution, you should call her Miss Raynor; but I will say no more of that." "It would be well," said I. "She is Sylvia to me. You must remember that I never met her in the circles of conventionalism." She laughed.
I had been speaking of her cousin Marcia Raynor, and expressing my pleasure that she was about to enter a new life, to which she seemed so well adapted. "Marcia is a fine woman," she said, "and I love her ever so much, but you know she has caused me a great deal of pain; that she has actually made me cry when I was in bed at night." I assured her that I had never imagined such a thing possible.
Raynor was relieved at your non-arrival; and as she knew I wished to join you as soon as possible, she invited me to sail with them to a little town on the coast, I forget its name, from which I could reach the railroad much quicker than from Sanpritchit." "She did not object, then," said I, "to your being on the yacht with her daughter?"
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