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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"

He went on talking and the three languages he used in
his jargon got clotted to the point of unintelligibility. He spoke very
fast and, as far as I could understand, poured abuse on the head of
Captain Vauvenarde, and continued to declare himself Lola's champion
and my devoted friend. He stamped up and down the room in his tightly
buttoned frock-coat from the breastpocket of which peeped the fingers of
his yellow dogskin gloves. At last he stopped, and drawing a chair near
the window perched on it with a little hop like a child. He held out his
hand.
"Do you believe I am your friend?"
"I am sure of it, my dear Professor."
"Then I'll betray a sacred confidence. The _carissima signora_ loves
you. You didn't know it. But she loves you."
I stared for a moment at the dwarf as if he had been a reasonable being.
Something seemed to click inside my head, like a clogged cog-wheel
that had suddenly freed itself, and my mind went whirling away straight
through the past few weeks. I tried to smile, and I said:
"You are quite mistaken.


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