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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Good-by " he faltered, and, still smiling, she finished the words for him. "Marjorie," she said, and unsmilingly he repeated: "Marjorie." While she passed through the gate he sat still and watched her, and he kept on watching her as she galloped toward home, twisting in his saddle to follow her course around the winding road.
Back in the office, he flung his hat on the table and rumpled his hair. "Those coyotes," he said casually, "are after some one called Waring. Pablo's whiskey is rotten." The collector's long legs unfolded, and he sat up, yawning. "Jim Waring isn't in town," he said as though to himself. "Pat, you give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning. "Got one myself," said the collector unsmilingly.
"Don't you find it rather difficult to be melodramatic and to talk farcical nonsense before breakfast, Don Carlos?" "I am debating with myself how best to get rid of Standish," responded Don Carlos unsmilingly. "An opportunity may present itself during this cruise. I do not wish to kill him, and would much prefer him to surrender you to me voluntarily.
She turned to him unsmilingly, her eyes cold and serious, and she spoke in a tone so low that even the sound of it could not extend to the young ladies who occupied the rear seats in the tonneau.
"Not so much chatter, small one," he said, unsmilingly. "This pretense, it is not necessary between you and me. So. You are ein bischen blasz, nicht? A little pale? You have not been ill, Dawn?" "Ill? Never felt more chipper in my life," I made flippant answer, "and I adore these people who are forever telling one how unusually thin, or pale, or scrawny one is looking."
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