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Marguerite Verne by Rebecca Agatha Armour
page 69 of 471 (14%)
careless style.

There was a restless, wearied look upon the face of Phillip Lawson,
as he glanced towards his interrogator. "To tell you the truth Tracy
I've heard nothing startling to-day. I might for your amusement give
you some of my own afflictions. In the first place I have a headache
that I would gladly part with."

"For heaven's sake don't wish it upon me," cried the visitor,
thinking no doubt of the unsteady hand and nervous headache of the
previous morning.

But this was not the kind of news that Hubert Tracy sought. He
wished to draw out some well-timed allusion to the northwest and he
had not the courage to do so.

He had been a frequent guest at the Verne mansion of late, but the
fact did not add to his felicity. Marguerite Verne could not play
the coquette. She was attentive to her callers but nothing more.

Montague Arnold, who was on the eve of declaration to the imperious
Evelyn, had now gleaned much of the affairs of the family. He
learned that Mr. Verne had a high regard for the rising young
barrister and he knew well that there was strong sympathy between
father and daughter.

"That little dame has plenty of grit to fight the battle, but if I
can manage it she will have to give up, if not she is a match for
the old fellow."

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