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It was as vivid as if she had sat beside him in the filthy Indian hut; as if she had suffered with him in the silver-mines, the coffee fields, the horrible variety show The variety show No, she must shut out that image, at least; it was enough to drive one mad to sit and think of it. She opened a little drawer in her writing-desk.
I could not specify every such place, but I trusted to your commonsense to tell you that beetles and caterpillars do not belong in a writing-desk! You are such an insatiable collector! You will have to learn moderation.
"It was early in the evening," returned the clerk, slowly, "when a messenger left a little package for Captain Shirley said that Captain Shirley had had it sent himself and asked that it be placed in his room. It was a little affair in a plain, paper- wrapped parcel. I sent one of the boys up with it and a key, and told him to put the package on the writing-desk tip here." Kennedy looked at me.
Afterwards Nestie took Speug to his room and showed him his various treasures a writing-desk with a secret drawer; The Sandalwood Traders by Ballantyne; a box of real tools, with nails and tacks complete; and then he uncovered something hidden in a case, whereat Speug was utterly astonished.
She despised herself for being so agitated, and for the furtive feeling that overcame her as she glanced about to be sure that she was alone, and then she ran up stairs to her room and locked the document in her own writing-desk. What was that? Oh, it was only the door-bell. But who could it be? Some one from the office, from her lawyer? She could see nobody.
It had an astounding lid, this Writing-Desk had; that you either locked up or let down; and when you let it down the lid had a shining slab of plate glass all screwed on, thus becoming the loveliest place to write on that you could well imagine.
The office, therefore, had sent copies of his memorial to each of the visiting justices, who at their next inspection of the jail would examine into the alleged facts, and had been requested to insert the results in their periodical report. Mr. Eden sat up in bed, his eye glittering. "Bring me my writing-desk." It was put on the bed before him, but with many kind injunctions not to worry himself.
Just back of his seat upon the floor of the platform stood a row of dinner pails, and above on wooden pegs hung the children's hats and bonnets. On each side of the room was a long writing-desk, merely a rough board resting with the proper slant upon stout pins driven into the walls. Here on rude, backless benches sat the larger boys and girls.
I know this is weak in me, and that his coming back can l ead to no good result for either of us; but he is the only living being left me to love; and I can't explain it but I want to put my arms round his neck and tell him about Mary. March 14th. I locked up the end of the cravat in my writing-desk. No change in the dreadful suspicions that the bare sight of it rouses in me.
I found her in her own sitting-room, a beautiful characteristic apartment with tall French windows hung with blue curtains, a large writing-desk and a great litter of books. The room gave upon a broad sunlit terrace with a balustrading of yellowish stone, on which there stood great oleanders. Beyond was a flower garden and then the dark shadows of cypresses.
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