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

"A Prince of Sinners"


I want you to throw up your other work come into this altogether, be my
right hand, and let me feel that I have one person on the council whom I
can rely upon."
She was silent for a moment. She leaned back in her chair, but even in
the semi-obscurity the extreme pallor of her face troubled him.
"You must remember, too," he said, "that the work will not be so hard as
now. Lately you have given us too much of your time. Indeed, I am not
sure that it is not you who need a holiday more than I."
She raised her eyes.
"This is--what you came to say to me?"
"Yes. I was anxious to get your promise."
There was another short silence. Then she spoke in dull even tones.
"I must think it over. You want my whole time, and you want to pay me
for it."
"Yes. It is only reasonable, and we can afford it. I should draw a
salary myself if I had not a little of my own."
She raised her eyes once more to his mercilessly, and drew a quick
little breath. Yes, it was there written in his face--the blank utter
indifference of good-fellowship. It was all that he had come to ask
her, it was all that he would ever ask her.


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