Miss Maitland, Private Secretary
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Оглавление
Bonner Geraldine. Miss Maitland, Private Secretary
CHAPTER I – THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
CHAPTER II – MISS MAITLAND GETS A LETTER
CHAPTER III – ANOTHER LETTER AND WHAT FOLLOWED IT
CHAPTER IV – THE CIGAR BAND
CHAPTER V – ROBBERY IN HIGH PLACES
CHAPTER VI – POOR MR. JANNEY!
CHAPTER VII – CONCERNING DETECTIVES
CHAPTER VIII – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER IX – GOOD HUNTING IN BERKELEY
CHAPTER X – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XI – FERGUSON'S IDEA
CHAPTER XII – THE MAN WHO WOULDN'T TELL
CHAPTER XIII – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XIV – A CHAPTER ABOUT BAD TEMPERS
CHAPTER XV – WHAT HAPPENED ON FRIDAY
CHAPTER XVI – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XVII – MISS MAITLAND IN A NEW LIGHT
CHAPTER XVIII – THE HOUSE IN GAYLE STREET
CHAPTER XIX – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XX – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XXI – SIGNED "CLANSMEN"
CHAPTER XXII – SUZANNE FINDS A FRIEND
CHAPTER XXIII – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XXIV – CARDS ON THE TABLE
CHAPTER XXV – MOLLY'S STORY
CHAPTER XXVI – THE COUNTER PLOT
CHAPTER XXVII – NIGHT ON THE CRESSON PIKE
CHAPTER XXVIII – THE MAN IN THE BOAT
CHAPTER XXIX – MISS MAITLAND EXPLAINS
CHAPTER XXX – MOLLY'S STORY
Отрывок из книги
Council Oaks was a very old place; it had been in the Ferguson family since the days when the British governors rolled over Long Island in their lumbering coaches. Before that the Indians had used it for a council ground, their tepees pitched under the shade of the four giant oaks from which it took its name. The Fergusons had kept the farm house, built after the Revolution, adding wings to it, till it now extended in a long, sprawl of white buildings, with the original worn stone as a step to its knockered front door, and the low, raftered ceilings, plank floors, and deep-mouthed fireplaces of its early occupation.
He spent a good many hours this way and the time came when Suzanne began to wait and watch for his coming.
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It was all disappointing, and Bébita, as a last resource, had to try Miss Maitland, who, if not a relation, was always sympathetic and responsive. The Secretary was reading too, holding her letter up high, almost in front of her face. Bébita laid a sly finger on the top of it, drew it down and sparked the torch right at Miss Maitland.
In the shoot of brilliant light the Secretary's face was like that of a stranger – hard and thin, the mouth slightly open, the eyes staring blankly at Bébita as if they had never seen her before. For a second the child was dumb, held in a scared amazement, then backing away she faltered:
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