The vehicle deflected from the
middle of the street as it neared Goree's office, and stopped in the
gutter directly in front of his door.
On the front seat sat a gaunt, tall man, dressed in black broadcloth,
his rigid hands incarcerated in yellow kid gloves. On the back seat
was a lady who triumphed over the June heat. Her stout form was
armoured in a skin-tight silk dress of the description known as
"changeable," being a gorgeous combination of shifting hues. She sat
erect, waving a much-ornamented fan, with her eyes fixed stonily far
down the street. However Martella Garvey's heart might be rejoicing
at the pleasures of her new life, Blackjack had done his work with her
exterior. He had carved her countenance to the image of emptiness and
inanity; had imbued her with the stolidity of his crags, and the
reserve of his hushed interiors. She always seemed to hear, whatever
her surroundings were, the scaly-barks falling and pattering down the
mountain-side. She could always hear the awful silence of Blackjack
sounding through the stillest of nights.
Goree watched this solemn equipage, as it drove to his door, with only
faint interest; but when the lank driver wrapped the reins about his
whip, awkwardly descended, and stepped into the office, he rose
unsteadily to receive him, recognizing Pike Garvey, the new, the
transformed, the recently civilized.
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