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"Moral courage is the rarest of qualities, and often maligned." "Well, he has got a champion," said Mr. Neuchatel. "I ardently wish him success," said Myra, "in all his undertakings. I only wish I knew what they were." "Has not he told your brother, Miss Ferrars?" asked Mr. Neuchatel, with laughing eyes. "He never speaks of himself to Endymion," said Myra.
"And no compliment could be extravagant if applied to you, dear lady. One would have to be a great poet to find words to do justice to your beauty and charm." He had a deep, musical voice which was infinitely attractive, and Myra found herself more than a little fascinated, and felt that she could listen to him all evening. But she tossed her red-gold head and laughed lightly.
Joe looked at it, and started. "It's no dream, Myra," he sighed. "Times have changed, and we, too, have changed." Then they went up the elevator to the clash and thunder on the eighth floor. And they felt more and more strange, double, as it were the old Myra and the old Joe walking with the new Myra and the new Joe.
The moment our eyes first met yesterday I knew you were the woman for whom I had been seeking and waiting. It is useless to fight against destiny, Myra. I shall win you by hook or by crook, and make you all mine." "That sounds like a challenge, Don Carlos," retorted Myra with forced lightness.
What the Dutch originally knew of the life and works of 'Dominus Sanctus Nicolaus' was told them by the Spaniards at the time of their influence in Holland, and so it is believed that the Saint was born at Myra, in Lycie, and lived in the commencement of the fourth century, in the reign of Constantine the Great.
I'm haunted by the fear of someone stealing you from me." "Tony, darlint, you've no need to be jealous," Myra smilingly assured him, and patted his cheek. "There isn't anyone else. Dozens of men profess to be in love with me, but there isn't a single man or a married man either that I'm the slightest little bit in love with. So don't worry!
You don't know Mariposa. Jeff has to work pretty late, but that's nothing nothing at all, if you've worked hard all your lifetime. And Myra is back at the Telephone Exchange they were glad enough to get her, and she says now that if there's one thing she hates, it's the stage, and she can't see how the actresses put up with it. Anyway, things are not so bad.
But at the same time she was suffocating with suspense. "Where is he?" she murmured they were standing right within the door. "Over there!" the girl pointed. But all Myra saw was a black semicircle of girls leaning over some one invisible near the window. "He's at his desk, and he's talking with a committee. You'd better wait till he's finished!" This news choked Myra. Wait? Wait here?
His first letter was unstamped and addressed to him on hotel stationery; the handwriting was an unfamiliar backhand and the inclosure brief: DEAR MR. ARNHEIM: I am very sorry we could not keep our date, but I got a message and I got to go in on the 7:10 train. Hope to see you when I come back. Sincerely, MYRA STERNBERGER. Mr. Arnheim replaced the letter slowly in the envelope.
He flung himself down before her with boyish abandon, and clasped both herself and her chair in his long arms. "Oh, you darling!" he said, bending his face over hers, while his blue eyes danced with delight. "Oh, Myra, what centuries since yesterday! How I have longed for you. I almost hoped you would after all have come to the station.
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