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Updated: June 26, 2025
Occasionally, a door opened almost soundlessly, and a white-clad figure would check the graph tapes on the creche's meters. Orne was lingering. He became the major conversation piece at the internes' coffee breaks: "That agent who was hurt on Heleb, he's still with us. Man, they must build those guys different from the rest of us!... Yeah!
"Time you was asleep, for to-morrow's a school day. And you've got to say your prayers yet." "I said mine on the train coming down," explained Malcolm with his quaint drawl. "Thought I might as well save the time as long as there wasn't anything else to do." "I've got a new prayer to say," announced Celia, flashing into the hall, a diminutive apparition, white-clad, with twinkling pink feet.
It was so restful, sitting here, that when he had disposed of the second order, he paid his account but did not rise at once. "The sergente is newly arrived here?" asked a white-clad Filipino, rising from another table and joining Overton. "Yes." "Then you have not seen much of Bantoc?" asked the Filipino, speaking in Spanish.
The pitiful man rolled meek imploring eyes upon her. She cast down the rug she carried upon the others in their bundle and stood over them. "I'll take care of them," she said. "They will be safe with me. Do you understand? Me!" She touched herself upon her white-clad bosom with one hand, pointing with the other to the rugs. The man gazed at her mournfully, resignedly.
He swerved to pass a clump of trees and brush. As he did three things happened. A small thrush started into the air off a branch, fluttered a moment, then fell to the snow. A white-clad figure appeared ahead, just at the next bend. And.... Thane wondered just what he was doing here ... why wasn't he on Proxima? He remembered school there at fun in elementary atomics....
Always as the line of white-clad choristers passed down the aisle, among them was one who brushed tenderly against her as he walked by, whom no one else saw. Rising above the actual voices and heard by her alone, up to the dome soared a voice dearer, more thrilling, than the rest.
Timmy shot out of the room and so through the front door, and Radmore got up too. "I'm afraid we ought to be going," he said. His white-clad hostess came up close to him: "It's so good of you to have come to see me so soon," she murmured. "Though I do like Beechfield, and the people here are awfully kind, I feel very forlorn, Mr. Radmore. Seeing you has cheered me up very much.
I was just dropping into an uneasy slumber when I heard a commotion in the girls' room across the hall. Their door opened and through our own open door I saw Felicity's white-clad figure flit down the stairs to Aunt Janet's room. From the room she had left came moans and cries. "Cecily's sick," said Dan, springing out of bed. "That cucumber must have disagreed with her."
Again and again Tyburn was before him, peopled with phantoms; he had seen the thick ropes, and heard their creaking, and the murmur of the multitude; had smelt the pungent wood-smoke and the thick drifting vapour from the cauldron. Once it seemed to him that the very room was full of figures, white-clad and silent, who watched him with impassive pale faces, remote and unconcerned.
Gilman turned off the electric light in the interior and shut the door. "Do not trouble about the luggage, I beg you," said Mr. Gilman, breathing, as usual, rather noticeably. "Bon soir, Leroux. Don't forget to meet the nine-thirty-five." This last to the white-clad chauffeur, who saluted sharply.
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