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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"The Strange Case of Cavendish"

Her toilet was a matter of but a few minutes, although she
took occasion to slip on a fresh waist, and to brighten up the shoes,
somewhat soiled by the tramp through the thick dust the evening before.
Indeed, it was a very charming young woman, her dress and appearance
quite sufficiently Eastern, who finally ventured out into the rough
hall, and down the single flight of stairs. The hotel was silent,
except for the heavy breathing of a sleeper in one of the rooms she
passed, and a melancholy-looking Chinaman, apparently engaged in
chamber work at the further end of the hall. Timmons was alone in the
office, playing with a shaggy dog, and the floor remained unswept,
while a broken chair still bore evidence of the debauch of the previous
night. The landlord greeted her rather sullenly, his eyes heavy and
red from lack of sleep.
"Morning," he said, without attempting to rise. "Lie down thar,
Towser; the lady don't likely want yer nosin' around. Yer a bit late
fer breakfast; it's ginerally over with by eight o'clock."
"I am not at all hungry," she answered.


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