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Updated: June 27, 2025
I'll not submit my life to you like that. If you want to go into things, all right; but it must be all or none. And I'd like another drink." He put the knife down with a little clap as Romarin beckoned to the waiter. There was distress on Romarin's face. He was not conscious of having adopted a superior attitude. But again he told himself that he must make allowances.
It had been Marsden who, in self-consciously seeking his own life, had lost it, and Romarin was more than a little inclined to suspect that the vehemence with which he protested that he had not lost it was precisely the measure of the loss. But he essayed it essayed to give Marsden a résumé of his career.
Romarin sprang half from his chair, and brought his fist down on the table. "And by Heaven, she didn't! At least that's one thing you haven't done!" Marsden too had risen unsteadily. "Oho, oho? You think that?" A wild thought flashed across Romarin's brain. "You mean ?" "I mean?... Oho, oho! Yes, I mean! She did, Romarin...."
Romarin had sought in his recital to minimise differences in circumstances; but Marsden seemed bent on aggravating them. He had the miserable advantage of the man who has nothing to lose. And bit by bit, Romarin had begun to realise that he was going considerably more than halfway to meet this old enemy of his, and that amity seemed as far on as ever.
For one moment Romarin stood; the next, he had turned and run for his life. At the corner of the street he collided with a loafer, and only the wall saved them from going down. Feverishly Romarin plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a handful of silver. He crammed it into the loafer's hand. "Here quick take it!" he gasped.
But Romarin looked at his watch again it was rather like Marsden to be late. Marsden had always been like that had come and gone pretty much as he had pleased, regardless of inconvenience to others. But, doubtless, he had had to walk.
If faces in the restaurant were now turned to Romarin, it was the horror on Romarin's own face that drew them. He drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "But," he stammered presently, "you are speaking of generalities horrible theories things diabolically conceivable to be done " "What?" cried Marsden, checked for a moment in his horrible triumph. "No, by God! I've done 'em, done 'em!
A Crown Prince had given him that stick, and had had it engraved, "To my Friend, Romarin." "You oughtn't to be here, you know," he said to the door-knocker. "If I didn't get you, Marsden ought to have done so...." It was Marsden whom Romarin had come to meet Marsden, of whom he had thought with such odd persistency lately.
Marsden had bidden the waiter leave the bottle and the syphon on the table, and was already mixing himself another stiff peg. "Well," he said, "since you will have it so to the old days." "To the old days," said Romarin, watching him gulp it down. "Queer, looking back across all that time at 'em, isn't it? How do you feel about it?"
I don't know, however, that " he broke off to throw a glance at a woman who had just entered the restaurant a divesting glance that caused Romarin to redden to his crown and drop his eyes. "I was going to say that you may think as little of my history as I do of yours. Supple woman that; when the rather scraggy blonde does take it into her head to be a devil she's the worst kind there is...."
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