United States or French Guiana ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Lawyers, curses, threats . And Stella Summersley Satchel like a Fury of denunciation. What hatred that woman has hidden from me! It must have accumulated.... It's terrible to think, Stephen, how much I must have tried her.... Oh! how far away those Alps are now, Stephen! Like something in another life.... And here we are! among the consequences." "But, you were saying we could stop the divorce."
And bracing us both and holding back our emotion was, quite unmistakably, Miss Summersley Satchel, a blonde business-like young woman with a stumpy nose very cruelly corrugated and inflamed by a pince-nez that savagely did much more than its duty by its name. She remained seated, tilting her chair a little, pushing herself back from the table and regarding me intelligently.
A little tow-headed waiter-boy appeared with their coffee and rolls on a tray poised high on his hand. "You'll have your coffee out here with us?" said Mary. "Where else?" said I, as though there was no conceivable alternative, and told the tow-headed waiter. Belatedly Mary turned to introduce me to her secretary: "My friend Miss Summersley Satchel. Mr. Stephen."
And so in a week or less I shall start, unusually tailor-made, for South Germany and all that jolly country, companioned and maided. I shall tramp on the feet God has given me in stout boots. Miss Summersley Satchel marches, I understand, like the British infantry but on a vegetarian 'basis, fancy calling your nourishment a 'basis'! the maid and so forth by Èilgut...."
"The rule of the game," said I, "is that one stops and waits for daylight. I wonder if anyone keeps that rule." We talked for a time of mountains, I still standing a little aloof until my coffee came. Miss Summersley Satchel produced that frequent and most unpleasant bye-product of a British education, an intelligent interest in etymology.
We have agreed at least on one thing, and that is upon a companion; she is to be my secretary in title, my moral guarantor in fact, and her name which is her crowning glory is Stella Summersley Satchel. She is blonde, erect, huffy-mannered and thoroughly up to both sides of her work. I partly envy her independence and rectitude partly only.
But I can't see clearly how these things can be; one dreams of them in a kind of luminous mist, and if one looks directly at them, they vanish again...." And at last we came to the landing, and moored the little boat and walked up the winding path to the hotel. The dull pain of separation was already upon us. I think we had forgotten Miss Summersley Satchel altogether.
Word Of The Day