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He hit both Brent Taber and Captain Abrams simultaneously, sprawling them both and sending Abrams' gun spinning out of his hand. He leaped over them and dashed down the hall where the elevator man waited uncertainly, not sure whether to dispute the right of way or not. His indecision was fatal.
As I was wondering when they would wake, that I might consult them on the details of my journey, I glanced up and saw Molly, as fresh as if she had been born with the morning, standing on a balcony just over my head. In her hand was a letter, and as she waved a greeting, something came fluttering uncertainly down.
One of the men held the horses while Mattison and the other followed me into the house. Rad himself, hearing the noise of our arrival, came to the door to meet us. He was quite composed again and spoke in his usual manner. "Hello, Arnold! Did you find him, and is the party over?" He stopped uncertainly as he caught sight of the others.
There were new, unpleasant furrows between his eyes. He looked older and the indefinable air of cruelty was more pronounced. He had been frightened the last time Kennon had seen him, and he was frightened now. "I'm not sure whether I am glad to see you, Kennon," he said uncertainly. "But I suppose I have to be." Kennon believed him. "How have you been?" Kennon asked.
"I won't tolerate the parental attitude from anybody! Do you understand me?" He chuckled and then stopped, rather abashed, as her cold anger seemed to fold him about and chill him. "I'm sorry," he offered uncertainly. "Oh, don't apologize! I can't stand men who say 'I'm sorry' in that manly, reserved tone. Just shut up!"
There was no one in at home. The rooms showed that attempts had been made at tidying them. Parts of the wreckage of the day before had been repaired by an unskilful hand. A chair or two and the table, stood uncertainly upon legs. The floor had been newly swept.
The thick brown gravy is purring. I can see pale bits of potato, and it is uncertainly spotted with the mucosity of onions. Mame pours it into a big white plate. "That's for you," she says; "now, what shall I have?" We settle ourselves each side of the little swarthy table. Mame is fumbling in her pocket. Now her lean hand, lumpy and dark, unroots itself.
He arose and came uncertainly forward, apparently weak, able hardly to stand without leaning upon the desk in front of him; his face waxen and drawn, hollowed at the cheeks and temples, his long hands thin to transparency. Life was betrayed in him only by the eyes. These burned darkly, far back under his brows, and flashed fiercely, as his glance darted swiftly from side to side.
He rose and regarded her angrily, uncertainly. Again he sat down. "Gloria, Gloria, won't you kiss me?" "No." Her lips, parting for the word, had just faintly stirred. Again he got to his feet, this time with less decision, less confidence. "Then I'll go." Silence. "All right I'll go." He was aware of a certain irremediable lack of originality in his remarks.
"I think, if you don't, the consequences may be serious." She looked up at him uncomprehendingly. "Come, Mrs. Mercer!" he said. She shrank at the name. "Don't call me that!" she said, and stumbled uncertainly to her feet. "I I am going away." He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You can't," he said quietly. "You are not fit for it. Besides, there is nowhere for you to go to.
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