Sydney Force walked slowly,
even irresolutely up the broad avenue leading to Mr. Bingle's
stupendous door-step. The snow had been cleared off of the narrow
footpath, but the president of the great city bank was so deeply
engrossed that he failed to take advantage of this singular
demonstration of worthiness on the part of Edgecomb and his assistants
so soon after the break of dawn. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten
that it was Christmas morning. He walked in the middle of the roadway,
in four inches of snow, and kept his gaze fixed rather intently on the
big house at the top of the avenue.
Mr. Force had not slept well. Indeed, he had not slept at all. The
shock he had received early in the evening was of the kind that
shatters one's peace of mind to a degree but little short of
calamitous. A plunge into ice-cold water would have failed to produce
the deadly chill that crept over him when he heard the name of Glenn.
How he succeeded in controlling himself so well that his profound
agitation escaped the attention of the others, he could not explain.
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