"
For an instant a wild impulse, born of suffering nerves, passed through
Corinna's mind. She longed to cry out in the tone of Julius Gershom,
"Oh, damn the public!"--but instead she remarked in the formal accents
her grandmother had employed to smooth over awkward impulses, "Isn't it
ridiculous that we can never get away from Gideon Vetch?"
The Judge laughed softly. "He has a pushing manner," he returned; and
then, still curiously pursuing the subject: "Perhaps, he may get his
revenge at the meeting Thursday night."
"Is there to be a meeting?" retorted Corinna indifferently. She was
thinking, "When John is eighty he will look like Father. I shall be
seventy-eight when he is eighty. All those years to live, and nothing
in them but little pleasures, little kindnesses, little plans and
ambitions. Charity boards and committee meetings and bridge. That is
what life is--just pretending that little things are important."
"That's the strikers' meeting," the Judge was saying over his glass of
sherry.
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