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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hermit of Far End, by Margaret Pedler This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Hermit of Far End Author: Margaret Pedler Release Date: April 5, 2006 [EBook #3159] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERMIT OF FAR END *** Produced by Dagny; John Bickers THE HERMIT OF FAR END By Margaret Pedler First Published 1920. PROLOGUE It was very quiet within the little room perched high up under the roof of Wallater's Buildings. Even the glowing logs in the grate burned tranquilly, without any of those brisk cracklings and sputterings which make such cheerful company of a fire, while the distant roar of London's traffic came murmuringly, dulled to a gentle monotone by the honeycomb of narrow side streets that intervened between the gaunt, red-brick Buildings and the bustling highways of the city. It seemed almost as though the little room were waiting for something--some one, just as the woman seated in the low chair at the hearthside was waiting. She sat very still, looking towards the door, her folded hands lying quietly on her knees in an attitude of patient expectancy. It was as if, although she found the waiting long and wearisome, she were yet quite sure she would not have to wait in vain. Once she bent forward and touched the little finger of her left hand, which bore, at its base, a slight circular depression such as comes from the constant wearing of a ring. She rubbed it softly with the forefinger of the other hand. "He will come," she muttered. "He promised he would come if ever I sent the little pearl ring." Then she leaned back once more, resuming her former attitude of patient waiting, and the insistent silence, momentarily broken by her movement, settled down again upon the room. Presently the long rays of the westering sun crept round the edge of some projecting eaves and, slanting in suddenly through the window, rested upon the quiet figure in the chair. Even in their clear, revealing light it would have been difficult to decide the woman's age, so worn and lined was the mask-like face outlined against the shabby cushion. She looked forty
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