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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"Black Rock: a Tale of the Selkirks"

The change was unmistakable, but hard to define.
He seemed to have resolved his life into a definite purpose. He was
hardly so comfortable a fellow to be with; he made me feel even more
lazy and useless than was my wont; but I respected him more, and liked
him none the less. As a lion he was not a success. He would not roar.
This was disappointing to me, and to his friends and mine, who had been
waiting his return with eager expectation of tales of thrilling and
bloodthirsty adventure.
His first days were spent in making right, or as nearly right as he
could, the break that drove him to the west. His old firm (and I have
had more respect for the humanity of lawyers ever since) behaved really
well. They proved the restoration of their confidence in his integrity
and ability by offering him a place in the firm, which, however, he
would not accept. Then, when he felt clean, as he said, he posted off
home, taking me with him. During the railway journey of four hours he
hardly spoke; but when we had left the town behind, and had fairly
got upon the country road that led toward the home ten miles away, his
speech came to him in a great flow.


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