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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cross-Cut, by Courtney Ryley Cooper, Illustrated by George W. Gage This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Cross-Cut Author: Courtney Ryley Cooper Release Date: December 13, 2006 [eBook #20104] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSS-CUT*** E-text prepared by Al Haines Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 20104-h.htm or 20104-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h/20104-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/1/0/20104/20104-h.zip) THE CROSS-CUT by COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER With Frontispiece by George W. Gage [Frontispiece: Carbide pointing the way, he turned back, pushing the tram before him.] Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1921 Copyright, 1921, by Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved Published May, 1921 TO G. F. C. I'VE THREATENED YOU WITH A DEDICATION FOR A LONG TIME AND HERE IT IS! THE CROSS-CUT CHAPTER I It was over. The rambling house, with its rickety, old-fashioned furniture--and its memories--was now deserted, except for Robert Fairchild, and he was deserted within it, wandering from room to room, staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar gaze of one whose vision suddenly has been warned by the visitation of death and the sense of loneliness that it brings. Loneliness, rather than grief, for it had been Robert Fairchild's promise that he would not suffer in heart for one who had longed to go into a peace for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. Year after year, Thornton Fairchild had sat in the big armchair by the windows, watching the days grow old and fade into night, studying sunset after sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the twilight of his own existence,--a silent man except for this, rarely speaking of the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared for him, worshiped him, the slightest inkling of what might have happened in the dim days of the long ago to transform him into a
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