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Later on, the principal European really in Sulaco, the engineer-in-chief of the railway, came riding up the Calle, from the harbour, and was admitted to our conclave. Meantime, the Junta of the Notables in the great sala was still deliberating; only, one of them had run out in the corredor to ask the servant whether something to eat couldn't be sent in.
Even if it had been feasible which I doubt I would not have done so. Poor father did not understand. He was afraid I would hang on to the ruinous thing, waiting for just some such chance, and waste my life miserably. That was the true sense of his prohibition, which we have deliberately set aside." They were walking up and down the corredor. Her head just reached to his shoulder.
Directing his course upstairs towards the door of Charles Gould's room, the doctor at the last moment hesitated; then, turning away from the handle with a shrug of his uneven shoulders, slunk off hastily along the corredor in search of Mrs. Gould's camerista. Leonardo told him that the senora had not risen yet. The senora had given into her charge the girls belonging to that Italian posadero.
Decoud, watching her as if she had his fate in her hands, detected an almost imperceptible nod of assent. He bowed with a smile, and, putting his hand into the breast pocket of his coat, pulled out a fan of light feathers set upon painted leaves of sandal-wood. He bowed again. "Good-night, senora." Mrs. Gould continued along the corredor away from her husband's room.
On one side of the corredor was a single large room, half storehouse, half bunk room, with a litter of pack saddles, rawhide kyacks and leather in one corner, a heap of baled hay, grain, and provisions in the other, and the rest strewn with the general wreckage of a camp cooking utensils, Dutch ovens, canvas pack covers, worn-out saddles, and ropes.
Rows of plants in pots, ranged on the balustrade between the pilasters of the arches, screened the corredor with their leaves and flowers from the quadrangle below, whose paved space is the true hearthstone of a South American house, where the quiet hours of domestic life are marked by the shifting of light and shadow on the flagstones.
"Charley," she said, "you are splendidly disobedient." He left her suddenly in the corredor to go and get his hat, a soft, grey sombrero, an article of national costume which combined unexpectedly well with his English get-up. He came back, a riding-whip under his arm, buttoning up a dogskin glove; his face reflected the resolute nature of his thoughts.
Gould said, with the nearest approach to curtness it was in her nature to assume. "Well, if so, then the silver will be still more safe. Let it come down, senora. Let it come down, so that it may go north and return to us in the shape of credit." Mrs. Gould glanced along the corredor towards the door of her husband's room.
"Of course," he said to his wife, alluding to this last conversation with the departed guest, while they walked slowly up and down the corredor, followed by the irritated eye of the parrot "of course, a man of that sort can take up a thing or drop it when he likes. He will suffer from no sense of defeat.
The master of the house, walking along the corredor, opened the door of his room, and saw his wife sitting in a big armchair his own smoking armchair thoughtful, contemplating her little shoes. And she did not raise her eyes when he walked in. "Tired?" asked Charles Gould. "A little," said Mrs. Gould.
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