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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Damnation of Theron Ware"


He squeezed a doubtful smile upon his features. "We shall both do our
best," he said. It was not easy, but he forced increasing amiability
into his glance and tone. "Is Brother Soulsby here, too?" he asked.
The debt-raiser shook her head--again the prompt, decisive movement, so
like a busy man of affairs. "No," she answered. "He's doing supply
down on the Hudson this week, but he'll be here in time for the Sunday
morning love-feast. I always like to come on ahead, and see how the land
lies. Well, good-night! Your head will be all right in the morning."
Precisely what she meant by this assurance, Theron did not attempt to
guess. He received her adieu, noted the masterful manner in which
she kissed his wife, and watched her pass out into the hall, with the
feeling uppermost that this was a person who decidedly knew her way
about. Much as he was prepared to dislike her, and much as he detested
the vulgar methods her profession typified, he could not deny that she
seemed a very capable sort of woman.
This mental concession did not prevent his fixing upon Alice, when she
returned to the room, a glance of obvious disapproval.


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