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Welles records in his Diary, "greatly importuned and pressed by cunning intrigues." From these various complications, Lincoln's embarrassment and perplexity as the time for holding the Republican Convention drew near were extreme. "Mr. Lincoln received me," says Mr. Winchell, "kindly and courteously; but his manner was quite changed.
The massive lines of the chair made her proportions seem wraithlike. Her white face with its fixed spots of red was a high light among the shadows. "Where's Anne?" "She and Ethel have gone to the matinée with Molly Winchell." "Why didn't you go?" "Molly never takes but two of us and, of course, this is Anne's first winter out. I have to step back and let her have her chance."
The recession of the Niagara Falls from Lake Ontario required only 7,000 to 11,000 years. It required only 8,000 years for the Mississippi River to excavate its course. Prof. Winchell estimates that the Mississippi River, has worn a gorge 100 feet deep, 8 miles long, back to the Falls of St. Anthony, in about 8,000 years.
"I'd picked out this town for the home of the man I was going to be. It suited me, because it was on a branch line of the railway, hardly used at all by men whose business was in the city, and off the main highway of automobile travel; besides, I liked the place I've always liked it." "Sure flattered," came the growl as Winchell stirred in his chair.
How far he stood removed from Ed Winchell and the young fellows of Sibley! "And yet I can understand him," she thought. "He ain't funny, like Mr. Congdon. He don't say queer things, and he don't make game of people. And he don't orate like Judge Crego. He isn't laughing at us now, the way the others are. I bet they're havin' a good time over our blunders."
If a young woman marries an elderly man of wealth it is probable that no young man of wealth has come to her at the favorable hour; and probable, too, that no man of merely compelling magnetism has been interested in her. Mr. Winchell was kindly, a noble nature; he gave her a tender, but only a paternal love.
She was about twenty-seven; he was nearly sixty. They were on their way around the world, stopping in Rome for some months. She was studying painting under an artist who also taught etching. In this way I came under the instruction of Luca, who had a studio not far from the Piazza di Spagna, and also into daily association with Mrs. Winchell.
"Stop that!" she warningly cried. "Hello, there's Ed! He seems in a rush. Wonder what's eating him?" Winchell, dressed in a new suit of clothes, darted from the sidewalk to the carriage, his face shining. "Say, folks, I'm called East. Old man died yesterday, and I've got to go home." He was breathing hard with excitement. "Get in and tell us about it," commanded Bertha.
May God grant his blessing upon you! Good bye." And he left me bathed in tears. These earnest words reopened the many wounds that many neglected duties had made. I could not doubt but Elder Winchell was as truly sent from God to deliver this message as was Caleb McComber, for whom I prayed in my distress.
She rang for hot water, and their one maid, Charlotte, brought it in a Sheffield jug. Then Ethel and Anne and Molly Winchell arrived, and once more Murray stood up, tall and self-conscious as he stole side glances at himself in the mirror. Maxwell Sears had brought the three women home. He had a fashion of following up Anne's engagements and putting his car at her disposal.
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