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"I went out, and walked the streets, and thought the situation over. How precious it was, I now knew, and felt to the depths of my soul, as I paced the night and wondered if this outcome was Fate's last crudest joke at Murray Davenport's expense. What should I do?
I find that I have always walked straight, serenely imprescient, into whatever trap Fate has laid for me. When I think of any horrible thing that has befallen me, the horror is intensified by recollection of its suddenness. 'But a moment before, I had been quite happy, quite secure. A moment later I shudder. Why be thus at Fate's mercy always, when with a little ordinary second sight...Yet no!
I wrote you such a letter as would inevitably draw you to your death. I wished your death. For Honoria would then be freed of you. I would condole with her. She is readily comforted, impatient of sorrow, incapable of it, I dare say. She would have married me. . . . Why must I tell you this? Oh, I am Fate's buffoon!
The Youngish Girl's answer was astonishingly tranquil. "I don't know, I'm sure," she said. "That part of it isn't my business. All I know is that I wrote the letter and mailed it. It's Fate's move next." "But maybe he never got the letter!" protested the Traveling Salesman, buckling frantically at the straps of his sample-case. "Very likely," the Youngish Girl answered calmly.
And it now lay with Roumania and her neighbours to play the part of Fate's executors. As a matter of fact, Roumania suddenly found a sonorous voice in which to utter her grievances against the Teutons.
Fate's 'ard on you, so fair an' young, miss, but Fate's been 'arder on the Guv ketched the pore young Guv a fair spiflicator " "Oh, please please," cried Hermione, reaching out appealing hands, "oh, tell me, is he hurt sick dying? Oh, quick, quick tell me!" "Lady, ma'am my pretty dear," said the Old Un, taking those pleading hands to pat them tenderly, "that's what I'm tryin' to do.
Then shall death appear before him in an altered guise; no longer as a doom peculiar to himself, whether fate's crowning injustice or his own last vengeance upon those who fail to value him; but now as a power that wounds him far more tenderly, not without solemn compensations, taking and giving, bereaving and yet storing up.
Richard had met Sue in the park: no doubt he would hold her a few moments in conversation. The schemer cared not what the two young people would or would not say to one another; all that interested him now was the fact that Richard was not at the cottage, and that, therefore, it would be safe to run back and fetch the tinder-box. All this was a part of Fate's mischievous prank.
Paracelsus, The wondrous Paracelsus, life's dispenser, Fate's commissary, idol of the schools And courts, chews upon his worldly success and extracts its acrid juices.
He was still stiff and cold with me, but my friendly air and my evident determination to have no quarrel won him to civility if to no warmer demonstration of regard. "Fate's child?" he asked with a little scorn, but seating himself and smoothing his brow. "You're fate's child? Isn't that an arrogant speech, Simon?" "If it weren't true, most arrogant," I answered.
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