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Bindloss, Harold, 1866-1945

"Winston of the Prairie"


He also remembered that everything he now held belonged to this man.
"You made the bargain," he said, less decisively.
Courthorne nodded. "Still, I fancy one of the conditions could be
modified. Now, if I wait for another three months, I may be dead
before the reckoning comes, and while that probably wouldn't grieve
you, I could, when it appeared advisable, send for a magistrate and
make a desposition."
"You could," said Winston. "I have, however, something of the same
kind in contemplation."
Courthorne smiled curiously. "I don't know that it will be necessary.
Carry me on until you have sold your crop, and then make a reasonable
offer, and it's probable you may still keep what you have at
Silverdale. To be quite frank, I've a notion that my time in this
world is tolerably limited, and I want a last taste of all it has to
offer a man of my capacities before I leave it. One is a long while
dead, you know."
Winston nodded, for he understood. He had also during the grim cares
of the lean years known the fierce longing for one deep draught of the
wine of pleasure, whatever it afterwards cost him.
"It was that which induced you to look for a little relaxation at the
settlement at my expense," he said. "A trifle paltry, wasn't it?"
Courthorne laughed. "It seems you don't know me yet. That was a
frolic, indulged in out of humor, for your benefit. You see, your role
demanded a good deal more ability than you ever displayed in it, and it
did not seem fitting that a very puritanical and priggish person should
pose as me at Silverdale.


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