"The Seventh Noon" by Frederick Orin Bartlett. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
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Frederick Orin Bartlett. The Seventh Noon
The Seventh Noon
Table of Contents
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Spring," she answered. "Just spring" … Frontispiece
The Seventh Noon
CHAPTER I
The Black Dog
"What, you, Miss Arsdale?"
CHAPTER II
King of To-day
CHAPTER III
The Beginning of the End
As he studied her it seemed certain that she was by no means enjoying herself in her present company
CHAPTER IV
Kismet
CHAPTER V
The Inner Woods
Facing her he faced the pendulum which ticked out to him the cost of each new picture he had of her
CHAPTER VI
The Shadow on the Portraits
CHAPTER VII
The Arsdales
CHAPTER VIII
The Man Who Knew
CHAPTER IX
Dawn
CHAPTER X
Outside the Hedge
He lowered the rails, and Miss Arsdale led the way
CHAPTER XI
A Parting and a Meeting
CHAPTER XII
District Messenger 3457
"The kid," he announced laconically. "What yuh think of him?"
CHAPTER XIII
The Sleepers
CHAPTER XIV
Consequences
CHAPTER XV
The Derelict
CHAPTER XVI
The Fourth Day
CHAPTER XVII
An Interlude
CHAPTER XVIII
The Making of a Man
CHAPTER XIX
A Miracle
CHAPTER XX
A Long Night
CHAPTER XXI
Facing the Sun
CHAPTER XXII
Clouds
CHAPTER XXIII
When the Dead Awake
CHAPTER XXIV
The Greater Master
CHAPTER XXV
The Shadow on the Floor
CHAPTER XXVI
On the Brink
CHAPTER XXVII
The End of the Beginning
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Seventh Noon
At noon! At the seventh noon, the whistle was to blow!
Отрывок из книги
Frederick Orin Bartlett
Published by Good Press, 2019
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These and many other fugitive thoughts passed through Donaldson's brain during the few minutes he was left here alone with her. What was said he could not remember a minute afterwards; something of the night, something of the brilliant reflections of the gas-light in the varicolored bottles, something of the approaching summer. Her thoughts seemed to be as far removed from this small room as were his own.
"Your patient is better?" Barstow inquired, when he returned with the package.
