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He was intolerably dull, and Sally's letter, which lay open on the table, brimful as it was of new energies and interests, had set him wondering whether he could continue his present course of life much longer. There was positively no one left in the village, at present, with whom he could interchange an idea. Mr.
Martie's trunk came to Sally's house the next morning, unaccompanied by message or note, and three days later Martie wrote her mother a long letter from a theatrical boarding-house in Geary Street, sending a copy of the marriage certificate of Martha Salisbury Monroe to Edward Vincent Tenney in Saint Patrick's Church, San Francisco, and observing with a touch of pride that "my husband" was now rehearsing for an engagement of seven weeks at sixty dollars a week.
In Sally's eyes was the story of the past three years: of love and temptation and struggle, of watchfulness and yearning and anxiety, of determination and an inviolable hope. Her eyes had a deeper look than that in Jim's. Now, as she gazed at him, the maternal spirit rose up from the great well of protectiveness in her and engulfed both husband and child.
Yours moving in an orderly manner to the exit, Sally. Sally's emotions, as she sat in her apartment on the morning of her return to New York, resembled somewhat those of a swimmer who, after wavering on a raw morning at the brink of a chill pool, nerves himself to the plunge. She was aching, but she knew that she had done well.
Sally's dark brows lowered over her large, black eyes, and she gave an appealing look to her father. "Law, mother, let the child sit up a quarter of an hour later, jist for once." "Cap'n Kittridge, if I was to hear to you, there'd never be no rule in this house. Sally, you go 'long this minute, and be sure you put your knittin' away in its place."
She wore a soft white silk dress with big faded pink roses in it, and her hair was fastened at each ear with a bunch of little pink roses. She was lovely, but she didn't "outdress or outshine" Sally one bit, and she never even glanced at the mirror to see how she looked; she began helping with Sally's hair, and to dress her.
Even Sally's basket still remained filled, and she was always a more successful seller than timid little Pollie; so the elder girl had proposed trying westward for better luck.
The lady had seen the little black book in Erick's box and had taken off the close-fitting cover and had found written in fine gold letters the name, "Hilda von Vestentrop". She at once assumed that this must be the maiden name of Erick's mother; but she knew nothing further. Now she had learned through Sally's prayer that Denmark had been her native land, and that a father was living there.
These discussions of Sally's character and general behaviour did not appeal to him in either a comic or serious light, and the havoc they made of Willy's business hours did not perceptibly move him; he was full of his good looks, his clothes, his affections, his bull-dog, and the fact that his youth was going by, as it should go by, among girls, in an old English village, in a garden by the sea.
Liza wuz my third wife, an' she'd borned six or seven children, when she died at thirty-five, an', by Joshuy, she'd never once hed a doctor in all her life!" Pop's joy over their dismissal was slightly dimmed by Sally's reception of the news.
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