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The Book of Susan A Novel   By: (1879-1933)

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First Page:

THE

BOOK OF SUSAN

A Novel

BY LEE WILSON DODD

[Illustration]

" Though she track the wilds, Though she breast the crags, Choosing no path Her kirtle tears not, Her ankles gleam, Her sandals are silver. "

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

First printing April, 1920 Second printing April, 1920 Third printing June, 1920 Fourth printing June, 1920 Fifth printing July, 1920 Sixth printing July, 1920 Seventh printing August, 1920 Eighth printing August, 1920 Ninth printing August, 1920 Tenth printing August, 1920 Eleventh printing August, 1920 Twelfth printing August, 1920

Printed in the United States of America

JOSEPHI FRATRIBUS

NON QUOD VOLUI SED QUOD POTUI

CONTENTS

PAGE THE FIRST CHAPTER 1 THE SECOND CHAPTER 24 THE THIRD CHAPTER 62 THE FOURTH CHAPTER 131 THE FIFTH CHAPTER 153 THE SIXTH CHAPTER 221 THE LAST CHAPTER 238

THE BOOK OF SUSAN

THE FIRST CHAPTER

I

IT happens that I twice saw Susan's mother, one of those soiled rags of humanity used by careless husbands for wiping their boots; but Susan does not remember her. John Stuart Mill studied Greek at three, and there is a Russian author who recalls being weaned as the first of his many bitter experiences. Either Susan's mental life did not waken so early or the record has faded. She remembers only the consolate husband, her father; remembers him only too well. The backs of his square, angry looking hands were covered with an unpleasant growth of reddish bristles; his nostrils were hairy, too, and seemed formed by Nature solely for the purpose of snorting with wrath. It must not be held against Susan that she never loved her father; he was not created to inspire the softer emotions. Nor am I altogether certain just why he was created at all.

Nevertheless, Robert Blake was in his soberer hours say, from Tuesdays to Fridays an expert mechanic, thoroughly conversant with the interior lack of economy of most makes of automobiles. He had charge of the repair department of the Eureka Garage, New Haven, where my not too robust touring car of those primitive days spent, during the spring of 1907, many weeks of interesting and expensive invalidism. I forget how many major operations it underwent.

It was not at the Eureka Garage, however, that I first met Bob Blake. Nine years before I there found him again, I had defended him in court as it happens, successfully on a charge of assault with intent to kill. That was almost my first case, and not far thank heaven from my last. Bob's defense, I remember, was assigned to me by a judge who had once borrowed fifty dollars from my father, which he never repaid; at least, not in cash. There are more convenient methods. True, my father was no longer living at the time I was appointed to defend Bob; but that is a detail.

Susan was then four years old. I can't say I recall her, if I even laid eyes on her. But Mrs. Bob appeared as a witness, at my request it was all but her final appearance, poor woman; she died of an embolism within a week and I remember she told the court that a kinder husband and father than Bob had never existed. I remember, too, that the court pursed its lips and the gentlemen of the jury grinned approvingly, for Mrs. Bob could not easily conceal something very like the remains of a purple eye, which she attributed to hearing a suspicious noise one night down cellar, a sort of squeaking noise, and to falling over the cat on her tour of investigation with various circumstantial minutiƦ of no present importance... Continue reading book >>




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