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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"A Prince of Sinners"

She laid her slim white fingers upon his
coat-sleeve.
"I wonder," she said, softly, "whether you will ever tell me."
"If you look at me like that," he answered, smiling, "I shall tell
you--a great many things."
Her eyes fell. It was too absurd at her age, but her cheeks were
burning.
"You don't improve a bit," she declared. "You were always too apt with
your tongue."
"I practiced in a good school," he answered.
"Dear me," she sighed. "For elderly people what a lot of rubbish we
talk."
He shivered.
"What a hideous word," he remarked. "You make me feel that my chest is
padded and my hair dyed. If to talk sense is a sign of youth, let us do
it."
"By all means. When are you going to find me a husband for Sybil?"
"Well--is there any hurry?" he asked.
"Lots! We are going to Fernshire next week, and the place is always
full of young men. If you have anything really good in your mind I
don't want to miss it."
He took up his cue and scored an excellent break. She followed suit,
and he broke down at an easy cannon. Then he came over to her side.


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