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Updated: June 15, 2025
Left to himself Richard Calmady crossed to the writing-table, swung himself up into the revolving-chair, and remained there sorting and docketing papers far into the night. But once, stooping, with long-armed adroitness, to unlock the lowest drawer of the table, a madness of disgust towards the unsightliness of his own person seized on and tore him. "Oh!
Looking at the contents of each in turn, with an odd mixture of indifference and close attention, he flung the major part into the waste-paper basket set beside his revolving-chair.
Then, turning in his revolving-chair, he looked steadily at Billy. "Cathcart," he said, quietly, "what reason have you for being so certain of Lord Ingleby's death, and that this telegram is therefore a forgery?" Billy moistened his lips. "Oh, confound it!" he said. "I picked up the pieces!" "I see," said Sir Deryck; and looked away. "I have never told a soul," said Billy.
"I suppose you heard of that silly duck fit of mine?" he smiled, the corners of his rather sensuous mouth twitching. Saunders nodded as he sat down in the revolving-chair at the desk and slowly swung it round till he faced his partner. "It's a wonder to me that you are able to talk about it," he said, sharply. "You've been through enough in the last ten days to kill a dozen ordinary men.
But you look regularly played out, mother, and I don't like that in the least." Richard twisted the revolving-chair half round, and held out his arms in invitation. As his mother leaned over him, he stretched upward and clasped his hands lightly about her neck. "Poor dear," he said coaxingly, "worn to fiddle-strings with all this wild dissipation! I declare it's quite pathetic."
He probably imagined he was in his revolving-chair at home, but he was not, and the frail article beneath him, unused to gyration upon one leg, gave way instantly and all but precipitated him at full length before his visitor. Max, who an hour before had impugned the butcher's impurity of language, would have found that in some respects a butcher and an author were men and brothers.
It was further sustained by the hope that he might perhaps repeat his generosities in the near future. At twelve o'clock precisely Mr. Schwartz, a round, bullet-headed German, entered the room, turned his revolving-chair, and began to cut the six envelopes heaped up before him on his desk, reading the prices aloud as he opened them in succession, the clerk recording.
Having welcomed her now with just the right shade of cordiality, he made her sit at a little distance from his desk, while he himself returned to the revolving-chair at which he had been writing when she entered. After the preliminary greetings, he put on, unconsciously, the questioning air a business man takes at the beginning of an interview which he has been invited to accord.
Tarbell, "what can there be to recommend the position?" She looked at the desk. "Is it an easy position?" she said. She looked down at her feet. "Is it even a graceful position?" She swung herself to and fro on her revolving-chair. She looked about her. The office was empty; the office-boy had gone on a very long errand. "I will try it," she said, with determination.
"Why, hello, Missy!" he greeted, swinging round leisurely in his revolving-chair. Ed Martin was always so leisurely in his movements that the marvel was how he got so much accomplished. Local dignitaries of the most admired kind, perhaps, wear their distinction as a kind of toga; but Ed was plump and short, with his scant, fair hair always rumpled, and a manner as friendly as a child's.
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