Margret Howth, a Story of To-day by Rebecca Harding Davis
page 64 of 217 (29%)
page 64 of 217 (29%)
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The old man's words were spurted out in the bitterness of scorn.
The girl listened with a cool incredulity in her eyes, and went back to her work. "Miss Herne is the lady,--my partner's daughter. Herne and Holmes they'll call the firm. He is here every, day, counting future profit." Nothing could be read on the face; so he left her, cursing, as he went, men who put themselves up at auction,--worse than Orleans slaves. Margret laughed to herself at his passion; as for the story he hinted, it was absurd. She forgot it in a moment. Two or three gentlemen down in one of the counting-rooms, just then, looked at the story from another point of view. They were talking low, out of hearing from the clerks. "It's a good thing for Holmes," said one, a burly, farmer-like man, who was choosing specimens of wool. "Cheap. And long credit. Just half the concern he takes." "There is a lady in the case?" suggested a young doctor, who, by virtue of having spent six months in the South, dropped his r-s, and talked of "niggahs" in a way to make a Georgian's hair stand on end. "A lady in the case?" "Of course. Only child of Herne's. HE comes down with the dust |
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