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Updated: June 27, 2025
There ought to have been seven thousand dollars' profit in them, perhaps more; seven thousand dollars, at any rate, that very day in the London market. Hargrave took them to the Empire Club and put them in a sealed envelope in the steward's safe. The thin drift of yellow remained in the city; that sulphurous haze that the blanket of sea fog, moving over London, presses down into her streets.
Minnie felt that she wanted to consult with someone, and the most sensible person she knew was Mrs. Hargrave. But with Mrs. Hargrave away, all Minnie could see to do was to let things go along, and "trust to luck" as she put it. Minnie didn't like "trusting to luck" at all; and every time she saw the two children playing together so happily and busily she shook her head and sighed.
He, somewhat to my discomfort, enticed her from the room to have a run in the hall, and thence into the garden. I got up to stir the fire. Mr. Hargrave asked if I felt cold, and shut the door—a very unseasonable piece of officiousness, for I had meditated following the noisy playfellows if they did not speedily return.
You may be like his eyes to him, but you know if that sort of man loses his sight he puts seeing out of the calculation and goes on just the same. Dory Hargrave is a man; and a real man is bigger than any love affair, however big." Del was trying to hide the deep and smarting wound to her vanity. "You are right, Madelene," said she. "Dory is cold." "But I didn't say that," replied Madelene.
Two little, quiet, serious-looking monkeys are busily watching the preparations for dinner, appropriating what they can to themselves in so secret and sly a manner that Hargrave is totally ignorant of the real thieves, and accuses Jenny wrathfully of misplacing her things. Jenny laughs and shows her pretty white teeth, enjoying the joke as much as we do.
Whitney laughed rather uncomfortably; and when they adjourned he lingered with Dr. Hargrave. "We must not let ourselves be carried away by our young friend's suspicions," said he to his old friend. "Scarborough is a fine fellow. But he lacks your experience and my knowledge of practical business.
‘Allow me to introduce you to my bride,’ said he, endeavouring to hide his embarrassment by an assumption of careless gaiety. ‘Esther, this is Mr. Markham; my friend Markham, Mrs. Lawrence, late Miss Hargrave.’ I bowed to the bride, and vehemently wrung the bridegroom’s hand. ‘I did tell you,’ said he, with an air of guilty confusion; ‘you received my letter?’ ‘What letter?’
Hargrave had contented herself with gathering the most beautiful flowers she could see, at the same time bewailing over their rapid destruction, only wishing that they were artificial ones that she might ornament the young ladies' dresses. It was on this day that my discovery consisted of the cinnamon tree.
It was clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We took the bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified at once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man named Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before.
Luckily their eagerness, curiosity, and excitement made them forget Mrs. Hargrave, who sat down and howled like a hungry cat, not, however, before she had discovered to them every secret corner, by running madly to look for you.
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