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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

She walked down the hall and straight into the smoking-room.
Lamhorn and Edith both sprang to their feet, separating. Edith became
instantly deathly white with a rage that set her shaking from head to
foot, and Lamhorn stuttered as he tried to speak.
But Edith's shaking was not so violent as Sibyl's, nor was her face
so white. At sight of them and of their embrace, all possible
consequences became nothing to Sibyl. She courtesied, holding up
her skirts and contorting her lips to the semblance of a smile.
"Sit just as you were--both of you!" she said. And then to Edith:
"Did you tell my husband I had been telephoning to Lamhorn?"
"You march out of here!" said Edith, fiercely. "March straight out
of here!"
Sibyl leveled a forefinger at Lamhorn.
"Did you tell her I'd been telephoning you I wanted you to come?"
"Oh, good God!" Lamhorn said. "Hush!"
"You knew she'd tell my husband, DIDN'T you?" she cried. "You knew
that!"
"HUSH!" he begged, panic-stricken.
"That was a MANLY thing to do! Oh, it was like a gentleman! You
wouldn't come--you wouldn't even come for five minutes to hear what
I had to say! You were TIRED of what I had to say! You'd heard it
all a thousand times before, and you wouldn't come! No! No! NO!"
she stormed.


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