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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"


Von Hillern wheeled at the corner and confronted him.
"There will come a day--" he almost choked.
"Der Toy? Naturally," the chill of Coombe's voice was a sound to
drive this particular man at this particular, damnably-thwarted
moment, raving mad. And not to be able to go mad! Not to be able!
"Swine of a doddering Englishman! Who would envy you--trembling
on your lean shanks--whatsoever you can buy for yourself. I spit
on you-spit!"
"Don't," said Coombe. "You are sputtering to such an extent that
you really ARE, you know."
Von Hillern whirled round the corner.
Coombe, left alone, stood still a moment.
"I was in time," he said to himself, feeling somewhat nauseated.
"By extraordinary luck, I was in time. In earlier days one would
have said something about 'Provadence'." And he at once walked
back.



CHAPTER XXIII


It was not utterly dark in the room, though Robin, after passing
her hands carefully over the walls, had found no electric buttons
within reach nor any signs of candles or matches elsewhere. The
night sky was clear and brilliant with many stars, and this gave
her an unshadowed and lighted space to look at. She went to the
window and sat down on the floor, huddled against the wall with
her hands clasped round her knees, looking up. She did this in the
effort to hold in check a rising tide of frenzy which threatened
her.


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