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Updated: July 2, 2025
"Will you marry Anne Thorpe if she gives up this money?" demanded Simmy sharply. "That has nothing to do with Anne's motives," said Thorpe grimly. "She wants to give it up because it is burning her soul, Simmy." "Rats! You make me sick, talking like that. She is giving it up for your sake and not because her soul is even uncomfortably hot.
Compared to his tone of moments earlier, the Texan's voice was now mildly friendly. "We'd like to know, seein' as how we're thinkin' some hospitable thoughts 'bout entertainin' them proper." Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby shook his head, his expression one of a man dealing with a stubbornly stupid child.
Not a day passed that did not find him running eagerly,—hopefully,—through his mail, looking for the letter he hoped for and was sure that eventually she would write to him. But no letter came. The only news he had of her was obtained through Simmy, who kept him acquainted with the progress of his client's affairs, forgetting quite simply the admonition concerning secrecy.
"Just a second, old chap," broke in Simmy. "You are forgetting that Anne wants you to be happy." "God, how happy I could have been with her!" "See here, will you go down there and see her?" demanded Simmy. "I can't do that,—I can't do it. Simmy—" he lowered his voice to almost a whisper,—"I can't trust myself. I don't know what would happen if I were to see her again,—be near her, alone with her.
"Simmy has not mentioned your name to me in weeks." "Well, I don't call that being friendly. He knows everything. He ought to have told you just how rotten I've been, because you could believe Simmy. You can't believe every one, Anne, but I know Simmy would give it to you straight. Yes, I've been all that could be expected. The only thing I haven't been is a liar." "Can't you brace up, George?
"He must be found, Simmy," she said imperatively. "Find him and bring him here to me. This is his home. I want him here." The two men went out again, half an hour later, to scour the town for George Tresslyn. They were forced to use every argument at their command to convince her that it would be highly improper, in more ways than one, to bring the sick man to her apartment.
He knew, through Simmy, that the last of Templeton Thorpe's money would soon pass from Anne's hands. A million and a half was gone. The time for the last to go was rapidly approaching. She would soon be poorer than when she entered upon the infamous enterprise. There would still remain to her the house in which she lived. It was not a part of the purchase price.
And why should Nature have put an incompetent, useless dweller into such a splendid house when he would have got on just as well or better perhaps in an insignificant body like his own? Proportions were wrong, outrageously wrong, grieved Simmy as he studied the man who despised the strength God had given him.
"Never anything like it, Anne, old girl. One of the young doctors told me—" "Has he come out of the ether, Simmy?" "What say?" "Is he conscious? Has the ether—" "I can't say as to that," said Simmy cheerfully. "He's been back in his room since five o'clock. That's—let's see what time is it now? Six- fourteen. Nearly an hour and a quarter. They all say—" "Have you see Braden?" "Sure.
Now, run along, Simmy, and don't worry about anything happening to her,—at least, so far as I'm concerned. She'll probably have her work cut out defending herself against some of her fine gentlemen, some of the respectable rotters in there. But she'll manage all right. She's the right sort, and she's had her lesson already. She won't be fooled again." Simmy's amazement had given way to concern.
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