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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

Barradine
knowing me so long, ever since I was a girl, if I went direct to
him--"
"Ah!" And he made a loud guttural noise, as if on the point of
choking. "Ah--so's I supposed. Then I got a bull's-eye with my first
thought to-night. So you went to him. Where?"
"At his house."
"Yes, right into his house. By yourself?"
"Yes."
"You didn't think to bring your aunt with you. Two was to be comp'ny
at Mr. Barradine's. So in you go--alone--without my leave--behind my
back."
"Will--remember yourself, my dear one. You won't blame, you can't
blame me. But for him, you were done for. All could see it, except
you. I asked for his help, and I got it."
"But your next move! We're talking about Friday, aren't we? Well,
after you'd bin to Mr. Barradine, what next?"
"Then I hoped he'd help us."
"Yes, but Friday, Saturday, Sunday? Had yer forgotten my address--or
didn' 'aarpen to remember that _I_ was in London, too?"
"I was afraid of your being angry. I thought I'd better wait."
"_Where_?"
She looked up at him, but did not answer.
"You've played me false. You've sold yourself to that fornicating old
devil. You--"
And with a roar he burst into imprecations, blasphemies and
obscenities.


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