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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"

I
had scrupulously respected her wishes, foolish though they were. Now I
was on my way to convince her that my love was not a moment's surge of
the blood on a spring afternoon. I would take her into my arms at once,
after the way of men, and she, after the way of women, would yield
adorably. I had no doubt of it. I tasted in anticipation the bliss of
that first embrace as if I had never kissed a woman in my life. And,
indeed, what woman had I kissed with the passion that now ran through
my veins? In that embrace all the ghosts of the past women would be laid
for ever and a big and lusty future would make glorious beginning. "By
Heaven," I cried, almost articulately, "with the splendour of the world
at my command why should I not write plays, novels, poems, rhapsodies,
so as to tell the blind, groping, loveless people what it is like?
"Take me up to Madame Brandt!" said I to the lift-porter. "Madame Brandt
is not in town, sir," said the man.
I looked at him open-mouthed. "Not in town?"
"I think she has gone abroad, sir.


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