He pulled off his
black, slouched hat and tucked it under his arm, smoothed his
lank, black hair, ran his palm down over his lank, unshaven face
with a smoothing gesture, and sidled over to the telegraph table.
"Here's the answer to that message," he said, in a limp tone,
without any especial emphasis or inflection. "If you ain't too
busy, and could send it right off--it's to go C.O.D. and make
'em repeat it, so as to be sure--"
"Certainly, Mr. Saunders." Miss Georgie rose, the crisp,
businesslike operator, and went to the table. She took the sheet
of paper from him with her finger tips, as if he were some
repulsive creature whose touch would send her shuddering, and
glanced at the message. "Write it on the regular form," she
said, and pushed a pad and pencil toward him." I have to place
it on file." Whereupon she turned her back upon him, and stood
staring down the railroad track through the smoke-grimed window
until a movement warned her that he was through.
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