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Updated: June 17, 2025
I offered it to Winterman, and he camps there cooks his meals, does his own house-keeping, and never comes up to the house except in the evenings, when he joins us on the verandah, in the dark, and smokes while my mother knits." "A discreet visitor, eh?" "More than he need be. My mother actually wanted him to stay on in the house in her pink chintz room. Think of it!
At the station he had the surprise of seeing Winterman's face on the platform, and of hearing from him that Doctor Bob had been called away to assist at an operation in a distant town. "Mrs. Wade wanted to put you off, but I believe the message came too late; so she sent me down to break the news to you," said Winterman, holding out his hand.
But you see he's so tremendously in demand. He'll try for another Sunday later on." Winterman nodded with a whimsical gesture. "Oh, he'll find me here. I shall work my time out slowly." He pointed to the scattered sheets on the kitchen table which formed his writing desk. "Not slowly enough to suit us," Wade answered hospitably.
He hadn't said so simply because Winterman was better than Pellerin that there was so much more of him, so to speak. Yes; but it came to Bernald in a flash wouldn't there by this time have been any amount more of Pellerin? ... The young man felt actually dizzy with the thought. That was it there was the solution of the haunting problem! This man was Pellerin, and more than Pellerin!
It seems that everything in the article that isn't pure nonsense is just Pellerinism. Howland thinks poor Winterman must have been tremendously struck by Pellerin's writings, and have lived too much out of the world to know that they've become the text-books of modern thought. Otherwise, of course, he'd have taken more trouble to disguise his plagiarisms." "I see," Bernald mused.
They stood for a minute facing each other, among the uncertain swaying shadows of the room, with the sea breathing through it as something immense and inarticulate breathed through young Bernald's thoughts; then Winterman threw up his arms with a humorous gesture. "Don't shoot!" he said.
Winterman had just bent down to re-fill his pipe from the jar on the table, and Bernald, jerking about to catch him in the yellow circle of lamplight, sat speechless, staring at a fact that seemed suddenly to have substituted itself for Winterman's face, or rather to have taken on its features. "No, they never saw that Pellerin's ideas were Pellerin. ..." He continued to stare at Winterman.
I drove at it hard all last week, thinking our friend's brother would be down on Sunday, and might look it over." Bernald had to repress the tendency to another wild laugh. "Howland you meant to show Howland what you've done?" Winterman, looming against the moonlight, slowly turned a dusky shaggy head toward him. "Isn't it a good thing to do?"
Perhaps because they were the first conventional words that Bernald had heard him speak, the young man was struck by the relief his intonation gave them. "She wanted to send a carriage," Winterman added, "but I told her we'd walk back through the woods." He looked at Bernald with a sudden kindness that flushed the young man with pleasure. "Are you strong enough? It's not too far?" "Oh, no.
The possession was one he did not mean to part with lightly; and the dread of its being torn from him constrained him to extraordinary precautions. "You've told Winterman, I suppose? How did he take it?" "Why, unexpectedly, as he does most things. You can never tell which way he'll jump. I thought he'd take a high tone, or else laugh it off; but he did neither. He seemed awfully cast down.
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