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Updated: June 25, 2025
I pretended not to notice it but I was sorry I'd said anything about it." "She didn't say anything?" "Not a word." "Didn't you know that, before the strike, she was Ditmar's private stenographer?" "No!" Augusta Maturin exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?" "It never occurred to me to tell you," Insall replied. "That must have something to do with it!" said Mrs. Maturin.
Sprole, like many a self-made man, was proud of his farm, though he did not lead a wholly bucolic existence. "I can't, Ches," answered Ditmar. "I've got to go back to Hampton." This statement Mr. Sprole unwisely accepted as a fiction. He took hold of Ditmar's arm. "A lady eh what?" "I've got to go back to Hampton," repeated Ditmar, with a suggestion of truculence that took his friend aback.
Nor did the new and feverish existence over whose borderland she had been transported seem real, save in certain hours she spent in Ditmar's company, when he made her forget hers being a temperament to feel the weight of an unnatural secrecy. She was aware, for instance, that her mother and even her father thought her conduct odd, were anxious as to her absences on certain nights and on Sundays.
She had seen such people as these hurrying in automobiles through the ugliness of Faber Street in Hampton toward just such delectable spots as this village of Kingsbury people of that world of freedom and privilege from which she was excluded; Ditmar's world. He was at home here. But she? The delusion that she somehow had been miraculously snatched up into it was marred by their glances.
It was dark, but sufficient light came through Ditmar's open door to guide her beside the rail. He had heard her step, and as she entered his room he had put his hands heavily on his desk, in the act of rising from his chair. "Janet!" he said, and started toward her, but got no farther than the corner of the desk.
This tense craving for it she felt now was somehow the answer to an expressed wish which had astonished her. Perhaps that was the reason why she had failed to do what she had tried to do, to shoot Ditmar and herself! It was Ditmar's child, Ditmar's and hers! He had loved her, long ago, and just now was it just now? he had said he loved her still, he had wanted to marry her.
It was when she tried to find the cause of the weakness that so abruptly had overtaken her, or to cast about for a plan to fit the new predicament to which her failure had sentenced her, that the fantasies intruded. She heard Ditmar speaking, the arguments were curiously familiar but they were not Ditmar's!
It was when she tried to find the cause of the weakness that so abruptly had overtaken her, or to cast about for a plan to fit the new predicament to which her failure had sentenced her, that the fantasies intruded. She heard Ditmar speaking, the arguments were curiously familiar but they were not Ditmar's!
But she was interested, and I went on to mention how greatly the strikers were stirred by the arrests, how they paraded in front of the jail, singing, and how the feeling was mostly directed against Mr. Ditmar, because he was accused of instigating the placing of dynamite in the tenements." "And you spoke of Mr. Ditmar's death?" Insall inquired.
There were hours when, Ditmar's passion leaving spent itself, they achieved comradeship, in the office and out of it; revelations for Janet when he talked of himself, relating the little incidents she found most illuminating. And thus by degrees she was able to build up a new and truer estimate of him.
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