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Updated: June 24, 2025
"I take off my hat to your 'society editress'," Dundee commented with false cheerfulness, when he had laid the paper back upon Penny's desk. Penny snatched up the paper and crushed it into her wastebasket. "I do! And I like my old friends, even if I am not able, financially, to keep up with them.... If that's why you've suddenly decided to stop being comrades "
"Why did you ever take them out there?" demands Oswald in great terror; but the heroine pays no attention whatever to this. " and later, I think I think I must have carried them into my room. Oh, yes; now I remember I did. And then I emptied my wastebasket into the kitchen stove. Now I wonder if they could have been in with that rubbish I burned! Let me think!" And she thought again deeply.
"No, I didn't hear him arrive," Flora Miles faltered, her handkerchief dabbing at her trembling, over-rouged lips. "I see," Dundee said slowly. He stepped into the little room, leaving Karen to stand weakly against the door frame. Without a word to Mrs. Miles he looked closely at the top of the dressing-table and into the small wastebasket that stood beside it.
He had been educated by priests, and his father was a politician feeding at the public trough. The young man knew the faults and foibles of both priest and politician, and his keen wit told truths about the court that were so well expressed the wastebasket did not capture them.
Again he took off a rubber band and ran his eyes over the various papers. Then he scowled, and, snatching up the wastebasket, fished out the top scraps. He regarded them aghast. Presently a sound rang through that office which had never resounded in Dunham's time. Judge Trent laughed loud and long. "Boy, I'll have to confess it," he said, as John looked up in questioning amazement.
Presently he swung his chair around to his desk and began mechanically to examine and separate some papers which he took from a rubber band. Certain ones he tore and threw them into the wastebasket, returned others to a pigeonhole, and all in a businesslike rush, as if to make up for the time he had been wasting. At last a strange look overspread his face. The blood rushed to it.
"Yes," rejoined the count somewhat indistinctly, for he did not remove his cigar from his mouth in speaking, "only a reality which we always cross out again on awaking. Those are experiences which we always throw into the wastebasket again." "Good, very good," the professor continued eagerly, "but we do the same thing in our so-called waking life.
The papers looked like the notations a man makes for himself to get the figures he will set into a formalized pattern as it takes shape, before throwing his penciled figurings into the wastebasket.
He came home early and found the family in the living room; they had dumped the wastebasket and were putting things back into it. Another land-prawn seemed to have gotten into the house; its picked shell was with the other rubbish in the basket. They had dinner early, and he loaded the lot of them into the airjeep and took them for a long ride to the south and west.
Always had a mess on his desk. Ten to one, he got your package mixed in the litter, and shoved all together into his wastebasket." "I'll put it up to him!" growled Blake. "What's the use? He couldn't remember a matter of business over night, to save him." "Lord! I sweat blood over those plans! It was hard enough to enter a competition put up by H. V., but it was the chance of a lifetime for me.
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