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Updated: June 19, 2025
There was a brief silence. Sharlee looked at the fire, the stirrings of painful memories betrayed in her eyes. "We knew, of course, that he might be still alive," she said slowly. "I hope he is well and happy. But we have no interest in him now. That is all closed and done with. As for the courts I am sure that he has been punished already more than enough."
I suppose you think it's what I need." "Certainly," said Sharlee, pleasantly. She stood beside her chair again, flushed with a secret sense of victory, liking him more for his temper and his control than she ever could have liked him for his learning. But it was not her idea that the little Doctor had got it anywhere near hard enough as yet. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Queed?" It appeared that Mr.
"Sociology," she had easily picked out, but the chapter heading, on the opposite page, was more troublesome, and, deeply absorbed, she had now just succeeded in deciphering it. The particular division of his subject in which Mr. Queed was so much engrossed was called "Man's Duty to His Neighbors." Struck by the silence, Sharlee looked up with a small start, and the faintest possible blush.
He paused for her to ask him questions, that he might have the pleasure of refusing her. But instead of prying, Sharlee said: "Still I'm sorry that you are going." "Well? Why?" "Because," said Sharlee. "Proceed." "Because I don't like his eyes." "The question, from your point of view," said Mr. Queed, "is a moral not an optic one.
Continuing to gaze at her, he went ahead with customary directness: "Then I am afraid you have been taking the reformatory too hard." "No, not the reformatory. It is something worse than that. I had a friend once," said Sharlee, muff to her lips, and her level eyes, upon him, "and he was not worthy."
Sharlee was alone in the room, concluding the post-prandial chores with the laying of the Turkey-red cloth. She was in fickle vein this evening, as it chanced; and instead of respectfully inquiring the nature of his tidings, as was naturally and properly expected of her, she received the young man with a fire of breezy inconsequentialities which puzzled and annoyed him greatly.
Now you're not a bit good at collecting money because you're so well-bred, but I'm not so awfully well-bred " "You are " "I'm bold blunt brazen! I'm forward. I'm resolute and grim. In short, I belong to the younger generation which you despise so " "I don't despise you, you dear " "Come," said Sharlee, springing up; "let's go down. I'm wild to meet Mr. Bylash again.
Presently she returned to him; asked him to sit down again; and, still standing herself, began speaking in a quiet kind voice which, nevertheless, rang ominously in his ears from her first word. "I remember," said Sharlee, "when I was a very little girl, not more than twelve years old, I think, I first heard about you about Charles Gardiner West.
Then, looking closer, I noticed that you are beautiful." The compliment was so unique and perfect that another touch could only spoil it. Sharlee immediately changed the subject. "Oh, Mr. Queed, has the Department you or Colonel Cowles to thank for the editorial about the reformatory this morning?" "Both of us. He suggested it and I wrote it. So you really cannot tell us apart?"
The following night he went to New York with a little party of friends, chiefly on pleasure bent; and, having no particularly frugal mind, permitted himself a very happy day or so in the metropolis. Hence it happened that Sharlee, learning from her aunt that no Post directors had called forcing remunerative work on Mr.
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