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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Magnificent Ambersons"


"I am afraid I do not understand you."
"I doubt if I could make it much plainer," George said, raising his
voice slightly, "but I'll try. You're not wanted in this house, Mr.
Morgan, now or at any other time. Perhaps you'll understand--this!"
And with the last word he closed the door in Eugene's face.
Then, not moving away, he stood just inside door, and noted that the
misty silhouette remained upon the frosted glass for several moments,
as if the forbidden gentleman debated in his mind what course to
pursue. "Let him ring again!" George thought grimly. "Or try the
side door--or the kitchen!"
But Eugene made no further attempt; the silhouette disappeared;
footsteps could be heard withdrawing across the floor of the veranda;
and George, returning to the window in the "reception room," was
rewarded by the sight of an automobile manufacturer in baffled
retreat, with all his wooing furs and fineries mocking him. Eugene
got into his car slowly, not looking back at the house which had just
taught him such a lesson; and it was easily visible--even from a
window seventy feet distant--that he was not the same light suitor who
had jumped so gallantly from the car only a few minutes earlier.


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