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Gregory, Jackson, 1882-1943

"The Bells of San Juan"

Quick hands did her bidding now, altering the
anteroom of the King's Palace into a big airy bedroom. There was a
great rug upon the floor, a white-sheeted and counterpaned bed, fresh
pajamas, table, chair, alcohol-stove, glasses and cups and
water-pitchers. There were cloths for fresh bandages, wide palm-leaf
fans . . . there was even ice and the promise of further ice to come.
The sun was shut out by heavy curtains across the main entrance and the
broken-out holes in the easterly wall.
"My dear," said Mrs. Engle, taking both of Virginia's hands into her
own, "I don't know just what has happened and I don't care to know
until you get good and ready to tell me about it. But I can see by
looking at you that you are at the end of your tether. I'm going to
take care of Roddy now while you sleep at least a couple of hours."
She and Engle had asked themselves the question as soon as Virginia's
note came to them: "What in the world were she and Norton doing on the
mountainside at that time of night?" But they had no intention of
asking it of any one else. Rather John Engle hastened to answer it for
others.
"_Muchachos_" he said to the men when he sent them back to San Juan,
"there was an accident last night. Senor Norton had a fall from his
horse, striking his head.


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