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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 122, December, 1867, by Various 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 Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 122, December, 1867 Author: Various Release Date: April 28, 2009 [EBook #28630] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY *** Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously made available by Cornell University Digital Collections.) THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY. _A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._ VOL. XX.--DECEMBER, 1867.--NO. CXXII. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. CHAPTER XXXIV. MURRAY BRADSHAW PLAYS HIS LAST CARD. "How can I see that man this evening, Mr. Lindsay?" "May I not be _Clement_, dearest? I would not see him at all, Myrtle. I don't believe you will find much pleasure in listening to his fine speeches." "I cannot endure it. Kitty, tell him I am engaged, and cannot see him this evening. No, no! don't say engaged, say very much occupied." Kitty departed, communing with herself in this wise:--"Ockipied, is it? An' that's what ye cahl it when ye're kapin' company with one young gintleman an' don't want another young gintleman to come in an' help the two of ye? Ye won't get y'r pigs to market to-day, Mr. Bridshaw,--no, nor to-morrow, nayther, Mr. Bridshaw. It's Mrs. Lindsay that Miss Myrtle is goin' to be,--an' a big cake there'll be at the weddin', frosted all over,--won't ye be plased with a slice o' that, Mr. Bridshaw?" With these reflections in her mind, Mistress Kitty delivered her message, not without a gleam of malicious intelligence in her look that stung Mr. Bradshaw sharply. He had noticed a hat in the entry, and a little stick by it which he remembered well as one he had seen carried by Clement Lindsay. But he was used to concealing his emotions, and he greeted the two older ladies, who presently cam
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