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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"

I
rose, too, so as to aid her. Suddenly as we met, by the window, she laid
both her hands on my shoulders and looked into my face earnestly and
imploringly, and her lips quivered. I wondered apprehensively what she
was going to do next.
"For God's sake, be my friend and help me!"
The cry, in her rich, low notes, seemed to come from the depths of the
woman's nature. It caused some absurd and unnecessary chord within me to
vibrate.
For the first time I realised that her strong, handsome face could look
nobly and pathetically beautiful. Her eyes swam in an adorable moisture
and grew very human and appealing. In a second all my self-denying
ordinances were forgotten. The witch had me in her power again.
"My dear Madame Brandt," said I, "how can I do it?"
"Don't take Dale from me. I've lived alone, alone, alone all these
years, and I couldn't bear it."
"Do you care for him so very much?"
She withdrew her hands and moved slightly. "Who else in the wide world
have I to care for?"
This was very pathetic, but I had the sense to remark that compromising
the boy's future was not the best way of showing her devotion.


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