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Dobie, Charles Caldwell, 1881-1943

"The Blood Red Dawn"

"She lost her job to-day. I'm a little
bit worried about her.... I came here on purpose to talk the situation
over with you."
His directness brought Lily Condor out of her languidness with a sharp
turn. She wriggled up and sat erectly on the edge of the davenport, one
slippered foot dangling just above the other. "Why, Ned Stillman, what
an old fraud you are! I didn't fancy you were interested in _anybody_. I
didn't think that you.... Oh, well, throw me a cigarette and let me hear
the worst in comfort!"
He opened his cigarette-case and leaned over toward her. She made her
choice. He struck a match and she put her hand tightly on his wrist as
she bent over the flame and slowly drew in her breath. Even after she
had released her grasp his flesh still bore the imprint of the rings on
her fingers. For a moment he had an impulse to bow himself out of her
presence without further explanation, but already she seemed to have a
proprietary interest in him. Her smile was full of friendly malice.
He ended by telling her everything, in spite of the conviction that he
had approached the wrong person.
"Of course," she hazarded, boldly, when he had finished, "you mean to
help her out."
Her presumption annoyed but rather refreshed him. "I'd like to do
something, but, hang it all, what can be done?"
"What can be done? If that isn't like a man! Or I should say, a
_gentleman_!.


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