sheâs so good to us all, Mr. Gamadge! Weâre perfectly free and happy.â
âNo latchkeys.â
âWhat? Oh. No, I havenât one, and Clara hasnât. Angie hates them getting lost. Dick finally revolted; he got one when he left college and went into law school.â
âNo animals allowed on the premises.â
âThey ruined the furniture. Angie has her macaw.â
âGood God.â
âNow, please, Mr. Gamadge! She supports us all.â
âIncluding Mr. Duncannon?â
âOf course not. Heâs been unlucky in his last plays, but he usually makes an excellent income. He adores herâit was a marriage for love.â
âEverybody adored Mrs. Morton. She permitted Miss Dawson to get engaged to this Mr. Payne, and at an early age?â
âAngela doesnât care for the matchânow; but that she could not interfere with.â
Two men came almost simultaneously into the room: a young one, from the hall; and an older one, through the doorway that led from a room in the rear. Miss Vauregard said: âMr. Gamadge, this is Mr. Duncannon; and this is my nephew Richard.â
Duncannon came forward with the attractive, calculated awkwardness which Gamadge remembered as being an asset to him on the stage; the gait and manner of one who knows how to hold himself, but doesnât have to bother about that any more. His voice lagged, tooâa cultivated drawl. He had been very handsome, but he now looked his forty-odd years; his figure was thickening, and so were the Roman features of his bronzed, discontented face.
âAwfully glad youâre on the job,â he said, shaking hands.
âHigh time, too.â Richard Vauregard, a big, lumbering, worried-looking young man, nearly shook Gamadgeâs arm off. âNow, letâs hope, weâll get some action. To the deuce with all the pussyfooting. Mr. Gamadge, have you met the zombi?â
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Volume II
Warning by
William Shakespeare
CHAPTER SEVEN
Head of the House
âI F YOU ARE GOING TO BE VULGAR, dear,â said Miss Vauregard, who had seated herself on the settee to the right of the screened fireplace, and was glancing uneasily at Gamadge, âyou may go away.â
âVulgar, Aunt Rob? Zombies arenât vulgar.â
âMiss Smith didnât say she had been dead.â
âJust in abeyance. Well, I donât propose to mince words about Miss Smith, I can tell you. I saw her once, and she struck me as well able to take care of herself. What do you say, Mr. Gamadge?â
âQuite well poised, in every way.â
âPoised! Of all the brazen-faced assuranceâbut Tomâs fallen for her.â He grimaced rudely at his uncle-in-law. âI forgot that. He wonât hear a word against her.â
Duncannon walked with his long, balanced actorâs step to the left-hand window. He said coldly, over his shoulder: âGo chase yourself. I donât care for your type of humor, thatâs all.â
ââSpare her, boys; sheâs a woman. More to be pitied than blamed. Well, of course, she has no designs on your money; that makes a difference. Weâre afraid of her, and they say fear leads to brutality.â
âIâve noticed that it does.â
âNow, please,â said Miss Vauregard.
âThat girl is not a common swindler,â continued Duncannon, parting the lace undercurtains to look out at the wide, empty street. âThereâs something funny about this thing, somewhere. Donât you agree with me, Gamadge?â
âYou think she may be in the house with old Mr. Vauregardâs connivance?â
âThatâs a notion!â Duncannon stared at him, his light hazel eyes widening between their long lashes.
âA cockeyed notion.â Young Vauregard also stared.
âI said it was silly.â Miss Vauregard turned her eyes resolutely away from Duncannon, and fixed them on her gloves, which she