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Updated: June 18, 2025
But in the late autumn the immense, savage creature was more frankly itself: rude, blustery, tyrannical, no more a smiling, cruel hypocrite. It warned you, often and openly, if warning you would take. It was on the last Sunday afternoon in October that Cope and Amy Leffingwell were strolling along its edge.
Hanbury was likewise a direct person. "I will, take it back on one condition, Mary. If you will tell me that Tom has finished paying Randolph's debts." Mrs. Leffingwell was silent. "I thought not," said Mrs. Hanbury. "Now Randolph was my own cousin, and I insist."
The flames gave sufficient illumination. "Set, young man," said Leffingwell heartily, "an' see who's teeth are sharper, yourn or mine." Dick sat down gladly, and they fell to. The woman alternately waited on them and ate with them. For a time the two masculine human beings ate and drank with so much vigor that there was no time for talk. Leffingwell was the first to break silence.
Came also Martin Dyke to converse intelligently upon labor, free verse, ouija, the football outlook, O. Henry, Crucible Steel, and Mr. Leffingwell. He was both solicitous and skeptical regarding Mr. Leffingwell's existence. Now when two young persons come separately to an old person to discuss each other's affairs, it is a bad sign. Or perhaps a good sign. Just as you choose.
"I have always understood, Miss Leffingwell, that the king of beasts was somewhere near the shade of the jungle." Honora laughed in spite of this apparent refutation of her theory of his apparel, and shook her head. "Do be serious, Peter. You'd make much more of an impression on people if you wore clothes that had well, a little more distinction."
When Honora returned, Aunt Mary had donned her apron, and was industriously aiding Mary Ann to wash the dishes and maintain the customary high polish on her husband's share of the Leffingwell silver which, standing on the side table, shot hither and thither rays of green light that filtered through the shutters into the darkened room.
The child partook of Aunt Mary's pride in that silver, made for a Kentucky great-grandfather Leffingwell by a famous Philadelphia silversmith three-quarters of a century before. Honora sighed. "What's the matter, Honora?" asked Aunt Mary, without pausing in her vigorous rubbing. "The Leffingwells used to be great once upon a time, didn't they, Aunt Mary?"
Aunt Mary, helpful under the most trying circumstances, was putting her articles in a bag, the initials on which she did not recognize H. L. S. Honora Leffingwell Spence; while old Catherine, tearful and inefficient, knelt before her, fumbling at her shoes. Honora, bending over, took the face of the faithful old servant and kissed it.
The carriage stopped, but it was some moments before they realized it. "You may come up in a little while," she whispered, "and lunch with me if you like." "If I like!" he repeated. But she was on the sidewalk, following the bell boy into the cool, marble-lined area of the hotel. A smiling clerk handed her a pen, and set the new universe to rocking. "Mrs. Leffingwell, I presume?
Leffingwell were driving with their host ran away, and in the flight managed to precipitate the vehicle, and themselves, down the side of one of the numerous deep valleys of the streams seeking the Mediterranean. Thus, by a singular caprice of destiny Honors was deprived of both her parents at a period which some chose to believe was the height of their combined glories.
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