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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


"Is it th' fightin' you mean, Hermy? Why, I did it all for you, Hermy,
all for you--I wanted t' be a champion 'cause all champions are rich.
I wanted t' make you a real lady--t' take you away from Mulligan's--but
now--I'm only--a 'has-been.' I've lost me chance--oh, Hermy, I'm done
for; I--oh, Geoff, I--think I'll--go to bed."
So Ravenslee set down the flask, and, clasping an arm about Spike's
swaying form, led him from the room, while Hermione stood rigid and
watched them go. But when the door had closed behind them, she bowed her
head upon her hands and sobbed miserably, until, spying the half-emptied
flask through her tears, she sprang forward, and snatching it from the
table, dashed it passionately to the floor.
"Oh, dear God of Heaven!" she whispered, sinking to her knees, "not that
way--ah, save him from that--keep him from treading that path!" With
head bowed upon her folded hands she knelt thus awhile until a sound in
the passage aroused her, and rising to her feet, she turned and
confronted Bud M'Ginnis.
He stood upon the threshold, and though his glowing, eager eyes dwelt
yearningly upon her beauty, he made no motion to enter the room.


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