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قراءة كتاب Molly Make-Believe

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‏اللغة: English
Molly Make-Believe

Molly Make-Believe

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 1






Eleanor Hallowell Abbott



With Illustrations by

Walter Tittle






New York

The Century Co.




Copyright, 1910, by

The Century Co.




The so-called delicious, intangible joke Frontispiece
"Good enough!" he chuckled 14
Every girl like Cornelia had to go South sometime between November and March 33
An elderly dame 43
A much-freckled messenger-boy appeared dragging an exceedingly obstreperous fox-terrier 61
"Well I'll be hanged," growled Stanton, "if I'm going to be strung by any boy!" 75
Some poor old worn-out story-writer 101
"Maybe she is—'colored,'" he volunteered at last 113
"Oh! Don't I look—gorgeous!" she stammered 138
"What?" cried Stanton, plunging forward in his chair 159
Cornelia's mother answered this time 167
He unbuckled the straps of his suitcase and turned the cover backward on the floor 185
"Are you a good boy?" she asked 205
"It's only Carl," he said 207



The morning was as dark and cold as city snow could make it—a dingy whirl at the window; a smoky gust through the fireplace; a shadow black as a bear's cave under the table. Nothing in all the cavernous room, loomed really warm or familiar except a glass of stale water, and a vapid, half-eaten grape-fruit.

Packed into his pudgy pillows like a fragile piece of china instead of a human being Carl Stanton lay and cursed the brutal Northern winter.

Between his sturdy, restive shoulders the rheumatism snarled and clawed like some utterly frenzied animal trying to gnaw-gnaw-gnaw its way out. Along the tortured hollow of his back a red-hot plaster fumed and mulled and sucked at the pain like a hideously poisoned fang trying to gnaw-gnaw-gnaw its way in. Worse than this; every four or five minutes an agony as miserably comic as a crashing blow on one's crazy bone went jarring and shuddering through his whole abnormally vibrant system.

In Stanton's swollen fingers Cornelia's large, crisp letter rustled not softly like a lady's skirts but bleakly as an ice-storm in December woods.

Cornelia's whole angular handwriting, in fact, was not at all unlike a thicket of twigs stripped from root to branch of every possible softening leaf.

"Dear Carl" crackled the letter, "In spite of