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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"


"I don't want to break down--not yet. I shall if I'm left alone--come
and sit with me, for God's sake."
"Very well," said I.
She passed me and I followed; but at the door I turned and glanced round
the cheerful, sunny room. There, against the background of blue sky and
tree tops framed by the window, sat Anastasius Papadopoulos, swinging
his little legs and talking bombastically to the tanned and grizzled
doctor, and opposite stood the correctly attired hotel manager in
the attitude in which he habitually surveyed the lay-out of the table
d'hote, keeping watch beside the white-covered shape on the floor. I was
glad to shut the sight from my eyes. We waited silently in the bedroom,
Lola sitting on the bed and hiding her face in the pillows, and I
standing by the window and looking out at the smiling mockery of the
fair earth. An agonising spasm of pain--a _momento mori_--shot through
me and passed away. I thanked God that a few weeks would see the end of
me. I had always enjoyed the comedy of life.


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