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Updated: May 9, 2025
Half a dozen bullets struck behind the herd, then as Roy's rifle cracked again, one of those tiny specks dropped to the ground. "It was a wonderful shot four hundred and twenty yards measured distance. No, this isn't a woman's inaccuracy of figures, it's a fact.
Sometimes I wonder if she knows herself, what she wants out of life.... But perhaps I haven't the key to her waverings...." At that moment, a slight unmistakable figure stepped from the shadow of the verandah down the shallow steps flanked with pots of begonia; moving with the effortless grace that Roy's heart knew too well. Dress and sari were carnation pink.
As he gazed at his simulacrum he stopped whistling "Roy's Wife" and let his countenance harden into a noble sternness. Then he laughed, and observed in the language of his youth that there was "life in the auld dowg yet." In that moment the soul of Mr. McCunn conceived the Great Plan. The first sign of it was that he swept all his business garments unceremoniously on to the floor.
Bates, urged thus flatteringly, stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, threw himself back in his chair with his head in that position in which he could look directly towards the zenith, and struck up a remarkably staccato rendering of 'Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch'. This melody may certainly be taxed with excessive iteration, but that was precisely its highest recommendation to the present audience, who found it all the easier to swell the chorus.
General Newton insisted upon taking them himself to school. "It looks well," he said to Miss Bertram, a little pompously; "for the boys to have a man at their back, and I will have a few words with the principal myself about Roy's delicacy of constitution. It will come with more force from me than from you."
On the bleachers Roy Hooker breathed easier. "Len Roberts certainly told the truth," he thought. "Sanger is a crackerjack pitcher." "What did you say?" asked a fellow at Roy's elbow. "I?" gasped Hooker, startled. "I didn't say anything." "I thought you did. I thought I heard you mutter something about Sanger. That fellow has developed, hasn't he? But we'll get onto him yet.
"It does not," warmly replied Lionel. "You have done well. Let us bury Mrs. Roy's story between us, and forget it, so far as we can." They parted. Lionel took his way to Deerham Court, absorbed in thought. His own strong impression had been, that Mr. Fred Massingbird was the black sheep with regard to Rachel. Lady Verner, like many more of us, found that misfortunes do not come singly.
It is certain that she felt extreme anguish at being expelled from the banks of Loch Lomond, and gave vent to her feelings in a fine piece of pipe-music, still well known to amateurs by the name of "Rob Roy's Lament."
The moment Norman caught sight of the animal, which stood with its forefeet together, its head erect, and its immense spread of antlers reared almost defiantly, he brought the machine directly toward the animal. There was a heavy discharge from Roy's rifle, but no sign that his shot had gone home. "Try him again," laughed Norman. "He's big as a barn."
Besides you'll hardly care ... shall we call it 'off'?" "Well you are ! Of course I'll care. I'm damned if we call it 'off." At that the mask vanished from Desmond's face. His hand closed vigorously on Roy's shoulder. "Good man," he said in his normal voice. "I'll count on you. That's a bargain." Their eyes met in the glass, and a look of understanding passed between them.
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