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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne : a Novel"


"Why on earth can't you let the poor woman alone?" I asked,
ignoring his hand.
"I am doing my duty to God and to her," said he.
"With the result that you have driven her into hysterics."
"She'll get over them," said he.
"I wish you good-day," said I. "We might talk together for a
thousand years without understanding each other."
"Pardon me," he retorted, with the utmost urbanity. "I
understand you perfectly."
He accompanied me to the dining-room where I had left my hat and
umbrella, and to the flat door which he politely opened. When it
shut behind me I felt inclined to batter it open again and to
take Judith by main force from under his nose. But I suppose I
am pusillanimous. I found myself in the street brandishing my
umbrella like a flaming sword and vowing to perform all sorts of
Paladin exploits, which I knew in my heart were futile.
I hailed an omnibus in the Tottenham Court Road, and clambered to
the top, though a slight drizzle was falling. Why I did it I
have not the remotest idea, for I abhor those locomotive engines
of exquisite discomfort.


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