"
"You sent word to him, you red-headed Irish cat? What do you mean?"
The lord of Fort Canibas strode close to her, passion on his face.
Presson could see that this was no suddenly evoked quarrel between the
two. It was hostility reawakened.
"I mean that I'm looking out for the interests of Harlan when those at
home are plotting against him. I hear the news. I listen to news for
him, when he's away in the big woods. And I'm not going to let you send
him off down to any old prison of a legislature, where he'll be spoiled
for his friends up here. And he doesn't want to go. And he'll be here,
Mr. Duke, to see that you don't trade him off into your politics."
She delivered her little speech resolutely, and gave him back his
blistering gaze without winking.
"Oh, my God, if you were--were only Ivus Niles, or Beelzebub himself
sitting there on that horse," Thornton gasped. "You--you--" he turned
away from her maddening smile and stamped about on the turf. The hounds
still played around him, persistent in their attentions.
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