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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"The Strange Case of Cavendish"


"It's the best there is here," he protested. "Timmons has held it for
you three days."
"Oh, I think it is too funny, Ned," she exclaimed, staring around, and
then flinging her wraps on the bed. "Look at that mirror, will you, and
those cracks in the wall? Say, do I actually have to wash in that tin
basin? Lord! I didn't suppose there was such a place in the world.
Why, if this is the prize, what kind of a room have you got?"
"Tough enough," he muttered gloomily, "but you was so close with your
money I had to sing low. What was the matter with you, anyhow?"
"Sweetie wouldn't produce, or couldn't, rather. He hasn't got his hands
on much of the stuff yet. Enright coughed up the expense money, or most
of it. I made John borrow some, but I needed that myself."
"Well, damn little got out here, and Lacy pumped the most of that out of
me. However, if you feel like kicking about this room, you ought to see
some of the others--mine, for instance, or the one Timmons put that other
woman in."
"Oh, yes," she said, finding a seat and staring at him.


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