Book 2
Chapter I
InhisofficeatSanFrancisco,seatedbeforeamassivedeskofpolishedredwood,veryornate,LymanDerricksatdictatingletterstohistypewriter,onacertainmorningearlyinthespringoftheyear.Thesubduedmonotoneofhisvoiceproceededevenlyfromsentencetosentence,regular,precise,businesslike.
“Ihavethehonourtoacknowledgeherewithyourfavourofthe14thinstant,andinreplywouldstate——”
“PleasefindencloseddraftuponNewOrleanstobeappliedasperourunderstanding——”
“InanswertoyourfavourNo.1107,referringtothecaseoftheCityandCountyofSanFranciscoagainstExcelsiorWarehouse&StorageCo.,Iwouldsay——”
Hisvoicecontinued,expressionless,measured,distinct.Whilehespoke,heswungslowlybackandforthinhisleatherswivelchair,hiselbowsrestingonthearms,hispopeyesfixedvaguelyuponthecalendarontheoppositewall,winkingatintervalswhenhepaused,searchingforaword.
“That’sallforthepresent,”hesaidatlength.
Withoutreply,thetypewriterroseandwithdrew,thrustingherpencilintothecoilofherhair,closingthedoorbehindher,softly,discreetly.
Whenshehadgone,Lymanrose,stretchinghimselfputtingupthreefingerstohidehisyawn.
