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Updated: June 10, 2025
She reached up and squeezed his hand, still without looking at him. "I shall always do that," she said softly. "Then that's settled," said Rivington in a tone of quiet satisfaction. "On the 21st of June, quite privately, at the Parish Church, Rington, Hampshire, by the Vicar of the Parish, Cecil Mordaunt Rivington to Ernestine, fourth daughter of Lady Florence Cardwell."
Think of the Frio Kid playing Santy!" I mentioned to Rivington that I was in search of characteristic New York scenes and incidents something typical, I told him, without necessarily having to spell the first syllable with an "i." "Oh, for your writing business," said Rivington; "you couldn't have applied to a better shop.
"I detest it," said Rivington, with unusual energy. Dinghra drew a step nearer, noiselessly, like a cat. His lips began to smile. He could not have been aware of the tigerish ferocity of his eyes. "I should like to make a bargain with you, Mr. Rivington," he said. Rivington, his hands in his pockets, looked him over with a cool appraising eye. He said nothing at all.
Mrs. Holt had not been satisfied with Honora's and Susan's accounts of the house in Stafford Park. She felt called upon to inspect it. And for this purpose, in the spring following Honora's marriage, she made a pilgrimage to Rivington and spent the day.
"How are you getting on?" "Oh, beautifully! I'm as happy as the day is long." She began to rub her bare feet in the grass. "Have my handkerchief," he suggested. She accepted it with a smile, and sat down. "Tell me about everything," she said. Rivington sat down also, and took a long, luxurious pull at the briar pipe. "Things were quite lively for a day or two after you left," he said.
Work was slack, and that meant actual hunger for many families. The monetary solidarity of the town is remarkable. No one flies a kite in Wall Street that somebody in Rivington Street does not in consequence have to go without his dinner. As Dr. Leigh went her daily rounds she encountered painful evidence of the financial disturbance.
"It's infinitely better than Rivington," she said. "I suppose," he remarked, with a little irritation unusual in him, "that you'll be wanting to go to Newport next." "Perhaps," said Honora, and resumed her letter. He fidgeted about the room for a while, ordered a cocktail, and lighted a cigarette. "Look here," he began presently, "I wish you'd be decent to Brent.
All he knew of history was the little he had gotten from reading some of Harkaman's books, and the long, rambling conversations aboard ship in hyperspace or in the evenings at Rivington.
"You think there is no danger of Dinghra?" she said, after a moment. Rivington smiled grimly, and got to his feet. "Not the smallest," he said. "He might come back," she persisted. "What if what if he tried to murder you?" Rivington was coaxing his pipe back to life. He accomplished his object before he replied. Then: "You need not have the faintest fear of that," he said.
What I don't know about little old New York wouldn't make a sonnet to a sunbonnet. I'll put you right in the middle of so much local colour that you won't know whether you are a magazine cover or in the erysipelas ward. When do you want to begin?" Rivington is a young-man-about-town and a New Yorker by birth, preference and incommutability.
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