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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Day of the Dog"


Mr. Crosby, what is to become of us?" He was very much distressed by her
tears and a desperate resolve took root in his breast. She was so tired
and dispirited that she seemed glad when he drew her close to him and
pressed her head upon his shoulder. He heard the long sigh of relief and
relaxation and she peered curiously over her wet lace handkerchief when
he muttered tenderly:
"Poor little chap!"
Then she sighed again quite securely, and there was a long silence,
broken regularly and rhythmically by the faint little catches that once
were tearful sobs.
"Oh, dear me! It is quite dark," she cried suddenly, and he felt a
shudder run through her body.
"Where could you go to-night, Mrs. Delancy, if we were to succeed in
getting away from here?" he asked abruptly. She felt his figure
straighten and his arm grow tense as if a sudden determination had
charged through it.
"Why--why, I hadn't thought about that," she confessed, confronted by a
new proposition.
"There's a late night train for Chicago," he volunteered.
"But how are we to catch it?"
"If you are willing to walk to town I think you can catch it," he said,
a strange ring in his voice.


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