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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"


There was no doubt now of my choice. I loved her. Love had come to me at
last. That was all I knew at that hour and all I cared to know.
Lola was the first to awake from Dreamland. She shivered. I asked
whether she felt cold.
"No. I can't believe that you love me. I can't. I can't."
I smiled in a masterful way. "I can soon show you that I do."
She shook her head. "I'm afraid, Simon, I'm afraid."
"What of?"
"Myself."
"Why?"
"I can't tell you. I can't explain. I don't know how to. I've been
wrong--horribly wrong. I'm ashamed."
She gripped her hands together and looked down at them. I bent forward
so as to see her face, which was full of pain.
"But, dearest of all women," I cried, "what in the world have you to be
ashamed of?"
She paused, moistened her lips with her tongue, and then broke out:
"I'll tell you. A decent lady like your Eleanor Faversham wouldn't tell.
But I can't keep these things in. Didn't you begin by saying I was a
seductress? No, no, let me talk. Didn't you say I could make a man do
what I wanted? Well, I wanted you to kiss me.


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