The Lost Road by Richard Harding Davis
page 65 of 294 (22%)
page 65 of 294 (22%)
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he who could thrash any man on the isthmus, crumpled up
like a child upon his shoulder. And Meehan, as he ran for water, shouted joyfully. "That nigger," he called to Bullard, "can go home now. The lieutenant don't want him no more. " EVIL TO HIM WHO EVIL THINKS As a rule, the instant the season closed Aline Proctor sailed on the first steamer for London, where awaited her many friends, both English and American--and to Paris, where she selected those gowns that on and off the stage helped to make her famous. But this particular summer she had spent with the Endicotts at Bar Harbor, and it was at their house Herbert Nelson met her. After Herbert met her very few other men enjoyed that privilege. This was her wish as well as his. They behaved disgracefully. Every morning after breakfast they disappeared and spent the day at opposite ends of a canoe. She, knowing nothing of a canoe, was happy in stabbing the waters with her paddle while he told her how he loved her and at the same time, with anxious eyes on his own paddle, skilfully frustrated |
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