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Updated: May 12, 2025
He doesn't want to talk about it any more than he can help." "It's so bad?" "No; but this time he's got to pull up." She stood silent, with lowered lids. He listened a moment, catching Stilling's farewell shout; then he moved a little nearer, and laid his hand on her arm. "In an hour?" She made an imperceptible motion of assent. "I'll tell you about it then. The key's as usual?"
Major Clarke of the th Infantry, had four companies of his regiment guarding public property at Bridgeton and he sent word by his orderly that he wanted a locomotive engineer and a fireman. Quick as a flash he had six engineers and any number of men who could fire. He chose two good men and then detailed Captain Stilling's company to go along as an escort.
Even the key of the boat-house had been mislaid by Isabel's fault, her husband said and the locksmith had to be called in to make a new one when the purchase of the motor-boat made the lake once more the centre of Stilling's activity.
Ah, you're walking, to be sure " Stilling's indulgent gesture seemed to concede that, in such a case, allowances must be made, and that he was the last man not to make them. "Well, then, Swordsley " He held out a thick red hand that seemed to exude beneficence, and the clergyman, pressing it, ventured to murmur a suggestion. "What, that Galahad Club again?
There is something almost ludicrous in a ghost talking the ordinary conversational language of every-day life, which might, to be sure, serve very well for some of Jung Stilling's spirits in bottle-green hunting-coats with brass buttons, but hardly for the majesty of buried Denmark. Dr.
"I say, Austin stop a minute!" his host called after him. Wrayford turned, and the two men faced each other across the hearth-rug. Stilling's eyes shifted uneasily. "There's one thing more you can do for me before you leave. Tell Isabel about that loan; explain to her that she's got to sign a note for it." Wrayford, in his turn, flushed slightly. "You want me to tell her?" "Hang it!
Addison Granger, the elderly bachelor brother of the volatile Lucy and Agnes, mentally formulated the precise phrase in which, in his next letter to his cousin Professor Spildyke of the University of East Latmos, he should allude to "our last delightful trip in my old friend Cobham Stilling's ten-thousand-dollar motor-launch" for East Latmos was still in that primitive stage of culture on which five figures impinge.
She felt a wet body scrambling over the edge of the opening, and Stilling's voice, raucous and strange, groaned out, close to her: "God! I thought I was done for." He staggered to his knees, coughing and sputtering, and the water dripped on her from his streaming clothes. She flung herself down, again, straining over the pit. Not a sound came up from it. "Austin! Austin! Quick!
He knew just where one had to duck one's head to avoid the two canoes swung from the rafters, and just where to put his hand on the latch of the farther door that led to the broad balcony above the lake. The boat-house represented one of Stilling's abandoned whims. He had built it some seven years before, and for a time it had been the scene of incessant nautical exploits.
The Red House was the biggest house of the Highfield summer colony, and Cobham Stilling was its biggest man. The motor-boat was Stilling's latest hobby, and he rode or steered it in and out of the conversation all the evening, to the obvious edification of every one present save his wife and his visitor, Austin Wrayford.
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