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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"


I'll walk with you up the hill."
It has come to this, that I must lie down for some hours during the day
lest I should fall to pieces.
"I suppose I'll have to," I laughed. "What a thing it is to have the
wits of a man and the strength of a baby."
She pressed my arm and said in her low caressing voice which I had not
heard for many weeks: "I shouldn't be so proud of those man's wits, if I
were you."
I knew she said it playfully with reference to masculine non-perception
of the feminine; but I chose to take it broadly.
"My dear Lola," said I, "it has been borne in upon me that I am the most
witless fool that the unwisdom of generations of English country squires
has ever succeeded in producing."
"Don't talk rot," she said, with foolishness in her eyes.
She accompanied me bareheaded in the sunshine to the gate of my hotel.
"Come and dine with me, if you're well enough," she said as we parted.
I assented, and when the evening came I went. Did I not say that we were
like two lost souls wandering alone in the mist?
It was only when I rose to bid her good-night that she referred to Dale.


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