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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Mary Marston"

Redmain's, even if he were at
once to repent, when she heard a loud voice calling her name from
a distance. She raised her head, and saw the white, skin-drawn
face of Mr. Redmain grinning at her from the open door. When he
spoke again, his words sounded like thunder, for she had removed
her hands from her ears.
"I fancy you've had a dose of it!" he said.
As he spoke, she rose to her feet, her countenance illumined both
with righteous anger and the tender shine of prayer. Her look
went to what he had of a heart, and the slightest possible color
rose to his face.
"Gone a step too far, damn it!" he murmured to himself. "There's
no knowing one woman by another!"
"I see!" he said; "it's been a trifle too much for you, and I
don't wonder! You needn't believe a word I said about myself. It
was all hum to make the villain show his game."
"I have not heard a word, Mr. Redmain," she said with
indignation.
"Oh, you needn't trouble yourself!" he returned. "I meant you to
hear it all. What did I put you there for, but to get your oath
to what I drew from the fellow? A fine thing if your pretended
squeamishness ruin my plot! What do you think of yourself, hey?--
But I don't believe it."
He looked at her keenly, expecting a response, but Mary made him
none. For some moments he regarded her curiously, then turned
away into the study, saying:
"Come along.


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