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Updated: July 12, 2025
"It's stunning," agreed the girl, still with her nervous manner. "I tell you, sit over there in Jeff's chair and take the same pose, so I can compare you with the photo." Merton obliged. He leaned an elbow on the chair-arm and a temple on the two straightened fingers. "Is the light right?" he asked, as he turned his face to the pictured angle. "Fine," applauded the girl. "Hold it."
Peter crossed the room to her side and sat down on her chair-arm. "Don't cry, dear," he said, with a hand on her head. "You're too tired to think things out now, but I'll help you." She lifted a piteous face, for the moment so startlingly like that of the dead girl he had loved that his senses were confused by the resemblance. "How, Peter?" she asked. "How can you help me?"
She was resting her elbows on the chair-arm, and, with hands lightly clasped, gazing thoughtfully into space. Fine lines had sprung into her forehead, and now she took off her glasses and wiped them carefully on her apron, as if that would help her to an inner vision. "No, I know that. Annie's a nice girl. There's nothin' forward about Annie. But I was only wonderin' where you could live.
He sat silent, drumming a tattoo on his chair-arm with long, strong fingers; and when he resumed his argument, it was with an entire absence of his usual air of authority. "On every score, you ought to keep your money to make yourself comfortable to stop working to bring yourself more pleasures, trips, whatever you want all exactly as your father intended." "Oh! don't argue with me, please!
The handkerchief in her lap was being rolled unconsciously into a tight little ball. "The fact itself is sufficient." Ben's free hand closed on the chair-arm with a mighty grip. "I beg your pardon," he said, "but I cannot agree with you. There's a certain amount of courtesy due between a woman and a man, as there is between man and man. It is my right to repeat the question."
Madame Bulteel nodded her head as though in a dream, and the Ry of Rys sat with his two great hands on the chair-arm and his chin dropped on his chest. Fleda's hands were clasped in her lap, and her big eyes never left the woman's face. "Before a month was gone I had married him," the low, tired voice went on.
Shocked and stunned, she turned her head hurriedly away; her elbow rested on the broad chair-arm, and her chin sank into her hand. Surface's son looked at her. It was many months since he had learned to look at her as at a woman, and that is knowledge that is not unlearned.
His crisp hair was so trim in spite of its dampness as to suggest the attentions of a barber within the last twelve hours. His hands were rough and bore traces of scars; the fingers, though slender for a man, might have belonged to a labourer's; the first and second of the left hand resting on the chair-arm held a cigarette unlighted. The expression of his countenance was happy contentedly so.
She drew back on his knee and looked at him steadily, lovingly, and his eyes dropped and his hands began to drum on the chair-arm. "Father," she said, "Piney has heard a long story. He was hid on the bluff-side, up at Redbud, and he heard a letter read at the shack there, a dead man's letter." "A dead oh, God bless you wait Sally, did that move? eh, what foolishness is this, a dead man's letter?
It would have been so easy to imprison the hand that lay along the chair-arm next his own, to utter words that trembled on his tongue, to break through the ice that Sophie used as a shield for the instant he felt sure of that and dare what fires burned beneath. While he stood, poised as it were, upon the tip-toe of indecision, Carr and Tommy Ashe came back.
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