The Riddle of the Frozen Flame by Mary E. Hanshew;Thomas W. Hanshew
page 41 of 237 (17%)
page 41 of 237 (17%)
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Suddenly Wynne's great, bulky figure swung free from the shadows. There
were red glints in his eyes and a sneer curled his heavy lips. He sucked his cigar and threw his head back. "What I make of it is a whole lot of old women's damn silly nonsense!" he announced in a loud voice. "And how a sensible, decent thinkin' man can give credence to the thing for one second beats me completely! Nigel's head was always full of imaginations (of a sort) but how you other chaps can listen to the thing--Well, all I can say is you're the rottenest lot of idiots I've ever come across!" Merriton shut his lips tightly for a moment, and tried hard to remember that this man was a guest in his house. It was so obvious that Wynne was trying for a row, Doctor Bartholomew turned round and lifted a protesting hand. "Don't you think your language is a trifle--er--overstrong, Wynne?" he said, in that quiet voice of his which made all men listen and wonder why they did it. Wynne tossed his shoulders. His thick neck was rather red. "No, I'm damned if I do! You're men here--or supposed to be--not a pack of weak-kneed women!... Afraid to go out and see what those lights are, are you? Well, I'm not. Look here. I'll have a bet with you boys. Fifty pounds that I get back safely, and dispel the morbid fancies from your kindergarten brains by tellin' you that the things are glow-worms, or some fool out for a practical joke on the neighbourhood--which has fallen for it like this sort of one-horse hole-in-the-corner place would! Fifty pounds? What say you?" |
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