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But on Punchard's remarking one day that he believed Vetch was malingering, it came out that he had not been seen by his roommates for nearly a week. Was it possible that while we had been merely thinking of escape, Vetch had found a means of escaping? It seemed impossible, and when I was having my daily conversation with the soldiers of the guard, I asked point blank what had become of him.
I had no great doubt of my own determination in that respect I had been on too many log-drives to fear personal encounter. And certainly Talbot Ward seemed to show nothing but eager interest. "You don't show up for what you are in your clothes," said he. "This is going to be more fun than I had thought." My roommates perched on the table and the mantelpiece out of the way.
When she got back to her excited roommates, she said little about the wonderful recovery of the Gypsy boy's power of speech, until Mercy and Ann were asleep. Then she said to Helen Cameron: "I am going to telegraph to your father the first thing in the morning. Roberto has been fooling us all. You can't tell me! I know he's been able to talk all the time."
We must have been a sweet sight, we two young barbarians myself marked and swollen and bloody, he with one eye puffed, and pale as death. My roommates, absolutely fascinated, did not stir. The tableau lasted only the fraction of a minute, after all. Then abruptly Talbot Ward sat up. He grinned up at me with his characteristic momentary flash of teeth. "I told you you couldn't lick me," said he.
They had been classmates, roommates, in the State University, but always he thought of Paul Riesling, with his dark slimness, his precisely parted hair, his nose-glasses, his hesitant speech, his moodiness, his love of music, as a younger brother, to be petted and protected.
He acquired the reputation, too, of having taken lately to nightmares, for in the middle of the night he would shriek in the most dreadful fashion, alarming his roommates prodigiously. After these attacks he would sit up in bed, his ruddy face devoid of color, his eyes glassy and shining, his breathing broken with gasps, and his body wet with a cold perspiration.
"Then you'll stay here until you have," answered Kenneth. "You and I are going to be roommates, so we might as well get used to each other now as later, eh? How any fellow with a face like a little pink angel can use his fists the way you can, gets me!" Kenneth was almost unseated at this juncture, but managed to hold his place.
He talked to 'em, lived with 'em, knew their lives!" The very thing my music teacher had said about Beethoven. How uneasy I had been then, how absurdly young and priggish then in the gingerly way I had gone at the harbor. Thank heaven there was no harbor here. I could enter this life with a wholehearted zest. I began with one of my roommates. He was to be an architect.
It seems that, years before, they had been roommates and warmly attached friends in the Academy of Canandaigua, New York, and now, after the lapse of ten years, they met for the first time far off in Kentucky. A long conversation followed, relative to what had occurred to each since the bright June morning when they parted with so much regret in the old academic halls of Canandaigua.
The world outside was strangely quiet. The trail was open. So with no attention to my roommates I hastily washed and dressed, buckled on my armament, and stumped freely forth, down the somnolent hall, down the creaking stairs, and into the silent lobby. Even the bar was vacant. Behind the office counter a clerk sat sunk into a doze. At my approach he unclosed blank, heavy eyes.
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