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Updated: May 31, 2025
Already had he discerned a liking towards Miss Morland in the countenance of his son; and thankful for Mr. Thorpe's communication, he almost instantly determined to spare no pains in weakening his boasted interest and ruining his dearest hopes. Catherine herself could not be more ignorant at the time of all this, than his own children.
"You come," he ordered, and set out at a rapid pace for camp. There, with incredible deftness, he packed together about twelve pounds of the jerked venison and a pair of blankets, thrust Thorpe's waterproof match safe in his pocket, and turned eagerly to the young man. "You come," he repeated. Thorpe hastily unearthed his "descriptions" and wrapped them up.
Missinaba Street is so wide that if you were to roll Jeff Thorpe's barber shop over on its face it wouldn't reach half way across. Up and down the Main Street are telegraph poles of cedar of colossal thickness, standing at a variety of angles and carrying rather more wires than are commonly seen at a transatlantic cable station.
Craven looked up absently. "And I think," he said, "you gave me Mr. Thorpe's address?" Mr. Thorpe was the secretary. Again Wharton gulped down his annoyance. If he chose to be expansive, it was not for Craven to take no notice.
The tardy fulfilment of his promise would be the only atonement he could make. Then again, still in Thorpe's voice: If the woman is here and you can find your friend, we may help him to wash the stain of cowardice off his soul. "The stain is deep," muttered Anthony Dexter. "God knows it is deep."
In a day or two George's attitude toward Braden underwent a complete change, but all the warmth of his enthusiastic devotion could not drive out the chill that had entered Thorpe's heart on that never-to-be- forgotten morning. Then there were the frequent and unavoidable meetings of Anne and her former lover.
Loud voices turned him about, and he saw that Thorpe and the sub-foreman had approached a huge, heavy-shouldered man, with whom they seemed to be in serious altercation. Two or three of the workmen had drawn near, and Thorpe's voice rang out clear and vibrant. "You'll do that, Blake, or you'll shoulder your kit back home. And what goes with you goes with your clique.
The rivermen, without hesitation, as calmly as though catastrophe had not thrown the weight of its moral terror against their stoicism, sprang, peavey in hand, to the insistent work. "By Jove!" said the journalist again. "That is magnificent! They are working over the spot where their comrades died!" Thorpe's face lit with gratification. He turned to the young man.
This first difficulty smoothed over, Zack asked with no little apprehension and anxiety, whether his father's anger showed any symptoms of subsiding as yet. The question was an unfortunate one. Mrs. Thorpe's eyes began to fill with tears again, the moment she heard it. The news she had now to tell her son, in answering his inquiries, was of a very melancholy and a very hopeless kind.
Out of the accusing silence, Thorpe's words leaped to mock him: The honour of the spoken word still holds him. He asked her to marry him and she consented . . . he was never released from his promise . . . did not even ask for it.
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