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Updated: June 12, 2025
They visited us once in Beacon Street, afterwards. And I have heard that there are a great many good Southern families here in St. Louis." "You did not glean that from Judge Whipple's letter, mother," said Stephen, mischievously. "He was very frank in his letter," sighed Mrs. Brice. "I imagine he is always frank, to put it delicately."
You've said from the first that this crime was a conspiracy a big thing directed by brains on the outside. Clayte was the tool. Whose tool was he? That's what we want to know." And Anson trundled along, "These men who have been in the war get a contempt for law, there's no doubt about it. Captain Gilbert might " "No names!" Whipple's hand went up in protest. "No accusations, gentlemen, please; Mr.
"That's my mother," said Freddie. "Oh, Freddie! Where have you been?" cried Mrs. Bobbsey, for when she heard of a fire she went in search of the two small twins, and could not find them in Mrs. Whipple's rooms. "I've been to the fire, and I was rescued," answered Freddie. "He did it," and he pointed to the white-coated fireman.
Whipple's handwriting when the creak of a door shattered his nerves completely. He glanced up from his work to behold none other than Colonel Comyn Carvel. Glancing at Mr. Richter's chair, and seeing it empty, the Colonel's eye roved about the room until it found Stephen.
"When you get your place back it'll be by some other means than buying it," said Kenneth contemptuously. He turned toward the door. "You haven't got enough money to buy everything, you see; and " There was a sharp knock on the door. "If you say anything about this," whispered Grafton hoarsely, "I'll I'll Come in!" "Who is here?" asked Mr. Whipple's voice as the door swung open.
I wanted to distinguish myself for you. Now I see how an earnest life might have won you. No, I have not done yet." She raised her head, frightened, and looked at him searchingly. "One day," he said, "one day a good many years ago you and I and Uncle Comyn were walking along Market Street in front of Judge Whipple's office, and a slave auction was going on.
And now, by the car window, looking out over the endless roll of the prairie, the memory of this was bitter within her. Suddenly she turned to her father. "Did you rent our house at Glencoe?" she asked. "No, Jinny." "I suppose Mr. Brice was too proud to accept it at your charitable rent, even to save Mr. Whipple's life." The Colonel turned to his daughter in mild surprise.
Richter gone, and the Judge often away in mysterious conference, he was left for hours at a spell the sole tenant of the office. Fortunately there was work of Richter's and of Mr. Whipple's left undone that kept him busy. This Thursday morning, however, he found the Judge getting into that best black coat which he wore on occasions. His manner had recently lost much of its gruffness.
He said to me, 'Sit down, my son, I want to talk to you. I know your father in Albany. You are Senator Whipple's son. I said to him, 'No, sir, I am not Senator Whipple's son. I am no relation of his. If the bishop had wished to talk to me after that, Mrs. Brice, he might have made my life a little easier a little sweeter. I know that they are not all like that.
I wanted to distinguish myself for you. Now I see how an earnest life might have won you. No, I have not done yet." She raised her head, frightened, and looked at him searchingly. "One day," he said, "one day a good many years ago you and I and Uncle Comyn were walking along Market Street in front of Judge Whipple's office, and a slave auction was going on.
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