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Updated: August 15, 2024
And Ellen, chilled by Courtrey's sneering face, the cold disapproval of Ben Garland's striking mallet, sank back in her chair and covered her face with her shaking hands.... She heard some more awful things then the voice of Dick Burtree beginning soft, low, silver like running waters.
The farce was finished save for the Judge's decision Dick Burtree was slumped in his chair, dead drunk and asleep. Wylackie Bob was lighting a cigarette in his brown fingers, a smile on his evil mouth, his slow, black eyes covering the slim white form of Ellen in a speculative way, as if he dreamed of making true his blasphemous lies.
He was thinking of the only man in Corvan whom he had been able to persuade to present Ellen's protest Dick Burtree, one-time lawyer and man of parts in the outside, now a puffed and threadbare vagabond, whose paramount idea was whiskey and more whiskey. But Burtree could talk. Over his mottled and shapeless lips could, on occasion, pour a stream of pure oratory silver as the Vestal's Veil.
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