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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"


Then I looked timidly around me.
The master of this Eden was standing, at the moment when he first caught
my eyes, holding up a bottle, scrutinizingly, between his face and the
light, one of many of the same sort that a lad, in a long, white apron,
was engaged in washing.
The odor of the various drugs and essences over which he presided formed
an aromatic atmosphere singularly suggestive of incense, as did his
costume, that of a high-priest of the temple; but, very soon discarding
a gray-linen cape or talma, worn for the protection of his speckless
coat, and tossing a bundle of corks rather disdainfully to his
assistant, the head of the establishment came politely forward, standing
on the other side of the stove, with clasped hands, expectantly.
"You will tell me your errand here when you are quite ready," he said,
kindly. "Do rest and warm yourself first. The stove has a narcotic
tendency when one has just come out of cold like this! The thermometer
has fallen twenty degrees since noonday; but that is only half the
trouble. Hem! This sleet and wind are beyond any former experience of
mine at this season."
I heard the words of the speaker as if bound in a dreadful dream, but
they were clearly understood, and now I made an effort at utterance, but
failed, until after repeated endeavors, to enunciate one word.


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