The Sporting Club
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Two old friends strike up an old feud filled with dangerous games on the vast preserve of their hunting club in this rollicking story of boyhood rivalries pushed to the limit.
repeatedly, piling up advantages. Quinn felt that something had to be said; but he knew he had sacrificed his position already by stringing along with the jokes that led up to this juncture. What made circumventing Stanton even trickier was the presence of some not quite visible plan which showed itself in Fortescue’s cooperation. Short of the pieties of woodland life to which the club subscribed so heartily, nothing pleased them more than internecine strife. Stanton knew how to manage this
However, with surprising common sense, the world is building the bombs it deserves, and until such a time as those bombs are used, I intend to treat it like the shit it is.” The speech fell from Stanton’s mouth phrase after phrase, in complete readiness. He meant it, evidently; but Quinn told him he didn’t. This seemed to irritate Stanton profoundly and he wouldn’t have said anything more, even if Scott hadn’t come up the lakeshore and tried to slip by in his characteristically abject fashion. He
Stanton’s ambitions shaped him beyond expectation. “Ah, well,” Stanton was talking, “why should we argue about who pushes dis shabby organization obah de cliff. All dem desperate creeps, all dat disposable humanity.” “Why do you have to cultivate your mean streak,” Janey asked. “Oh, dat,” said Stanton smiling. “I do dat natchally!” Stanton left the room and hardly had time to get away from the house when they heard him being shot. A long moment later, he appeared once more in the room and
smoothed his hair down with both hands. Then he put the pistol in the top of his pants and squeezed the knot of his tie between his thumbs and put the pistol in his pocket. He asked Vernor how he looked and Vernor said he looked as sharp as a tack. And then the dealer asked how he liked the tie and I thought somebody would get killed but Vernor said that the tie was of the very finest.” Later, Stanton befriended the dealer and took him deep-sea fishing and by some slip or concatenation of
“Yes.” A huge broken sigh expired. “But I don’t blame him. None of this could have been thought up without Stanton.” “You really blame him for all this—” “Certainly I do. Here I am crying in front of you. I don’t suppose … I mean you’d never…” “Not a word.” “These people have gone haywire tonight.” “I think so.” “The world isn’t like this, is it?” “I think it is.” “But Quinn, I’m an old man. It isn’t like this.” “Yes, but I think it is.” By this time, Quinn could see the light of the