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Updated: June 20, 2025
Mavis scrambled out of the train, just in time to prevent herself from being carried on to the next stopping place. She smoothed her ruffled plumage and looked about her. She found the station much smaller than she had believed it to be; she hardly remembered any of its features, till the scent of the stocks planted in the station-master's garden assisted her memory.
The train pulled out of the tunnel, the whistle blew, and the dwarf acacias in front of the station-master's hut sent a greeting through the window. Grimly John Bogdan dragged his heavy bag through the train corridor, descended the steps hesitatingly, and stood there at a loss, looking around for help as the train rolled on behind his back.
Any passenger who wishes to break his journey will find accommodation at Glacier next station." The English travellers were hurried back into their car. Still no sign of Anderson. Yerkes was only able to tell them that he had seen Anderson go into the station-master's private room with a couple of the Mounted Police. He might have come out again, or he might not.
She was to start at noon for the little mountain railway-station, where she would get the house ready for the furniture, which should arrive during the day. The sergeant-major, or rather the station-master's assistant, had some money matters to settle in the garrison town, and would not follow her until the next morning. Frau Schumann was quite out of breath.
At the junction I fetched the sleepy-looking porter to see to her luggage, and then left her. My rug I left in the station-master's office, and with the dispatch-box in my hand I climbed the steps from the station, and turned into the long straight road which led to Braster.
With the station-master's directions humming like a refrain in my ears, I passed through the sleeping village and out on to the road.
The station-master's house was covered with roses and clematis, and he and the porters were evidently famous gardeners in their loneliness, for there was not a house near, the board up giving the name of the station as Furzebrough Road. "Shall I take the luggage, sir?" said a man, touching his hat; and at the same moment Tom caught sight of a solitary fly standing outside the railings.
When we reached the railroad at Portulacca, a thrifty lemon-growing ranch on the Volusia and Chinkapin Railway, the first thing I did was to present my dog to the station-agent but I was obliged to give him five dollars before he consented to accept the dog. However, Miss Barrison interviewed the station-master's wife, a kindly, pitiful soul, who promised to be a good mistress to the creature.
Round the big white gate the station-master's children played and his white chickens walked, whilst the stationmaster himself, a young man getting too fat, helped his wife to peg out the washing on the clothes line in the meadow. The great boat-shaped wagons came up from Playcross with the hay. At first the farm-men waggoned it.
The police are detaining him as a suspect. He gave your name as a reference. He is a Russian." "All right. I'll come at once." I hung up the receiver and told the servant to whistle for a taxi-cab. Ten minutes later I was picking my way through the crowds on the platform to the station-master's office. I entered, and found a strange scene being enacted.
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