you'd like to hear General Jackson sing; he's got
a real deep barytone."

Lettice sat limply in her chair. "I stood it just as
long as I could," she half-whispered.

Gordon walked to the unshuttered window, gazing
out; above the impenetrable, velvety dark of the
western range the stars gleamed like drops of water.
He felt unsettled, ill at ease; dissatisfaction irked
his thoughts and emotions. His unrest was without
tangible features; it permeated him from an undivined
cause, oppressed him with indefinable longing.
He got, he dimly realized, but a limited amount of
satisfaction from the money now at his command.
He was totally without financial instinct -- money
for itself, the abstraction, was beyond his comprehension.
He had bought a ponderous gold watch,
which he continually neglected to wind; the years of
stage driving had sated him of horses; his clothes
were already a subject of jest in Greenstream; and
he had seriously damaged his throat, and the throat
of Sim Caley, with cigars. He had been glad to
return to the familiar, casual cigarettes, the generous
bag of Green Goose for five cents; Sim had reverted
to his haggled plug. He had no desire to build a
pretentious dwelling -- his instinct, his clannish
spirit, was too closely bound up in the house of his
father and grandfather to derive any pleasure from
that.

[[168]]

p167 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p168w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p169

v?