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

"A Prince of Sinners"

"
He sighed.
"Perhaps you are right," he said, softly. "I believe that the only
thing I have carried with me from the beginning, and shall have with me
to the end, is my love for you. Nothing else has survived."
Her eyes filled with tears. She leaned over to him.
"Dear friend," she said, "listen! At least I will promise you this. If
ever I should see the least little impulse or action which seems to me
to come from the Philip I once knew, and not Lord Arranmore, anything
which will convince me that some part, however slight, of the old has
survived, I will come to you."
He sighed.
"You alone," he said, "might work such a miracle."
"Then come and see me often," she said, with a brilliant smile, "and I
will try."
He moved his chair a little nearer to her.
"You encourage me to hope," he said. "I remember that one night in the
conservatory I was presumptuous enough--to take your hand. History
repeats itself, you see, and I claim the prize, for I have fulfilled the
condition."
She drew her hand away firmly, but without undue haste.
"If you are going to be frivolous," she said, "I will have all the
callers shown in.


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