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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944
31858063101376_022
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THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE ROAD BY MANLY BANISTER There was nothing in the world Stanley Ward would rather less have than Sonia Martin as a wife. This attitude of his was remarkably at variance to Sonia's plans. What it was about her that repelled him, he could not definitely name. Sonia was svelte, sophisticated. She always dressed impeccably and expensively, although she did indulge in inordinate fondness for jewelry and furs. There was something about her preference for wolf furs that nettled Ward. The taste spoke too eloquently for her character. Sonia had never tried even thinly to disguise the fact that her love was divided quite evenly between Ward and his fortune. Sonia was beautiful in a long-legged, high-breasted sort of way, with an imperious lift to her chin. She had smouldering black eyes and full, sensuous lips that would have thrilled many a lesser man than Stanley Ward. As sure as Ward was that Sonia constantly schemed by hook or crook to marry him, he was equally sure of two other things. One of these was that Sonia would marry him only over his dead body. The other was that such a circumstance held its possibility not too far distant in the future. Ward was thirty-two, at the time of life when the usual young man with plenty of money is comfortably married to the most charming debutante in town and seriously considering the possibility of future heirs to his fortune. He looked athletic enough, healthy and robust. He dressed with restraint in neat gray suits and drove a yellow convertible, the only thing about him that marked undue attention from the throng. Upon looking closely, however you would notice that in spite of his seeming athletic air, Ward was indeed most languid in his movements. In his gray eyes hovered a perpetual shadow that matched the twist of cynicism on his lips. Ward knew, and he had known for a long time, that life's joys and fuller moments were not meant for him. An organic disorder of the heart had long ago made of him a fatalist. Of course, Sonia did not know. He managed to keep the secret of his affliction fairly well between himself and his friend, Dr. Harry Kenton. Sonia, itching for the brighter spots of the world, would have considered his illness no barrier or excuse in disfavor of marriage. And he felt she was entirely too irresponsible to come into full possession of the Ward money. Besides, he fully intended that every cent should go to a more worthy cause than paving an emerald road through life for Sonia. The Ward Institute of Medical research, specializing in heart diseases, was his dream of a fitting monument to his own brief and frustrated life. His will was already made, and except for his lawyers, Dr. Kenton was the only one who knew of the plan. Kenton was named in the will to receive Ward's money in trusteeship for the projected institute. Sonia Martin paused in the doorway, in the act of drawing on her gloves, and favored him with an arch look of feline suggestion. "AT least, darling, you could offer to take me home. It isn't every day I call on a bachelor gentleman in his apartment." Ward smiled affably at her, successfully disguising his momentary feeling of rage. No, he agreed silently, it wasn't every day - but damned near! Nor did her calling on him have the significance her remark might have intended to convey. Sonia was too smart to become the mere plaything of a rich man. He got his gray homburg and topcoat and conducted her out the door. -- 18 --
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THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE ROAD BY MANLY BANISTER There was nothing in the world Stanley Ward would rather less have than Sonia Martin as a wife. This attitude of his was remarkably at variance to Sonia's plans. What it was about her that repelled him, he could not definitely name. Sonia was svelte, sophisticated. She always dressed impeccably and expensively, although she did indulge in inordinate fondness for jewelry and furs. There was something about her preference for wolf furs that nettled Ward. The taste spoke too eloquently for her character. Sonia had never tried even thinly to disguise the fact that her love was divided quite evenly between Ward and his fortune. Sonia was beautiful in a long-legged, high-breasted sort of way, with an imperious lift to her chin. She had smouldering black eyes and full, sensuous lips that would have thrilled many a lesser man than Stanley Ward. As sure as Ward was that Sonia constantly schemed by hook or crook to marry him, he was equally sure of two other things. One of these was that Sonia would marry him only over his dead body. The other was that such a circumstance held its possibility not too far distant in the future. Ward was thirty-two, at the time of life when the usual young man with plenty of money is comfortably married to the most charming debutante in town and seriously considering the possibility of future heirs to his fortune. He looked athletic enough, healthy and robust. He dressed with restraint in neat gray suits and drove a yellow convertible, the only thing about him that marked undue attention from the throng. Upon looking closely, however you would notice that in spite of his seeming athletic air, Ward was indeed most languid in his movements. In his gray eyes hovered a perpetual shadow that matched the twist of cynicism on his lips. Ward knew, and he had known for a long time, that life's joys and fuller moments were not meant for him. An organic disorder of the heart had long ago made of him a fatalist. Of course, Sonia did not know. He managed to keep the secret of his affliction fairly well between himself and his friend, Dr. Harry Kenton. Sonia, itching for the brighter spots of the world, would have considered his illness no barrier or excuse in disfavor of marriage. And he felt she was entirely too irresponsible to come into full possession of the Ward money. Besides, he fully intended that every cent should go to a more worthy cause than paving an emerald road through life for Sonia. The Ward Institute of Medical research, specializing in heart diseases, was his dream of a fitting monument to his own brief and frustrated life. His will was already made, and except for his lawyers, Dr. Kenton was the only one who knew of the plan. Kenton was named in the will to receive Ward's money in trusteeship for the projected institute. Sonia Martin paused in the doorway, in the act of drawing on her gloves, and favored him with an arch look of feline suggestion. "AT least, darling, you could offer to take me home. It isn't every day I call on a bachelor gentleman in his apartment." Ward smiled affably at her, successfully disguising his momentary feeling of rage. No, he agreed silently, it wasn't every day - but damned near! Nor did her calling on him have the significance her remark might have intended to convey. Sonia was too smart to become the mere plaything of a rich man. He got his gray homburg and topcoat and conducted her out the door. -- 18 --
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