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The Scorn Of Women | Jack London | |
Chapter IV |
Page 3 of 4 |
"Come with me, Floyd," she said simply. "I want you now." "What the--" he began explosively, and quit as suddenly, discreet enough to not round it off. Where the deuce had his wits gone, anyway? Was ever a man more foolishly placed? He gurgled deep down in his throat and high up in the roof of his mouth, heaved as one his big shoulders and his indecision, and glared appealingly at the two women. "I beg pardon, just a moment, but may I speak first with Mr. Vanderlip?" Mrs. Eppingwell's voice, though flute-like and low, predicated will in its every cadence. The man looked his gratitude. He, at least, was willing enough. "I'm very sorry," from Freda. "There isn't time. He must come at once." The conventional phrases dropped easily from her lips, but she could not forbear to smile inwardly at their inadequacy and weakness. She would much rather have shrieked. "But, Miss Moloof, who are you that you may possess yourself of Mr. Vanderlip and command his actions?" Whereupon relief brightened his face, and the man beamed his approval. Trust Mrs. Eppingwell to drag him clear. Freda had met her match this time. "I--I--" Freda hesitated, and then her feminine mind putting on its harness--"and who are you to ask this question?" "I? I am Mrs. Eppingwell, and--" "There!" the other broke in sharply. "You are the wife of a captain, who is therefore your husband. I am only a dancing girl. What do you with this man?" "Such unprecedented behavior!" Mrs. McFee ruffled herself and cleared for action, but Mrs. Eppingwell shut her mouth with a look and developed a new attack. |
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Tales of the Klondyke Jack London |
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