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Updated: September 18, 2025
When, therefore, she opened the flat door to him she upbraided him with considerable tenderness. "It was Clem Sypher," he explained, taking off his overcoat. "He sent for me. He wanted me badly. Why, I don't know. At least I do half know, but the other half I don't. He's a magnificent fellow."
He put them on, and unlocking his desk, took out the letter which he had received that morning from Zora. "For you," she wrote, "I want victory all along the line the apotheosis of Sypher's Cure on Earth. For myself, I don't know what I want. I wish you would tell me." Clem Sypher sat in an arm-chair and looked into the fire until it went out.
He fetched a parcel of manuscript from his pocket and unrolled it into flatness. "I should like to show it to you. Do you mind?" "It would interest me enormously," said Sypher. "I invent all sorts of things. I can't help it. But I always come back to guns I don't know why. I hope you've done nothing further with the guns of large caliber.
Dix, and inquired after her health. Septimus reported favorably. She had passed a few weeks at Hottetôt-sur-Mer, which had done her good. She was now in Paris under the mothering care of Madame Bolivard, where she would stay until she cared to take up her residence in her flat in Chelsea, which was now free from tenants. "And you?" asked Sypher.
It's somewhere about here, isn't it?" "Over there," said Septimus, with a wave of the hand. He brought a chair from the other table. "Do sit down." Sypher obeyed. "How's the wife?" "The what?" asked Septimus. "The wife Mrs. Dix." "Oh, very well, thank you," he said hurriedly. "Let me introduce you to my good friend Monsieur Hégisippe Cruchot of the Zouaves Monsieur Cruchot Monsieur Clem Sypher."
Even when he wrote her a dutiful letter from Paris to the telegram he had merely replied, "Sorry; impossible" full of everything save Emmy and their plans for the future, she did not forgive him. How dared he consider himself fit to travel by himself? His own servant qualified his doings as outlandish. "They'll make a terrible mess of their honeymoon," she said to Clem Sypher.
The mere man would have tried the telephone first, then sent the telegram, and after that the explanatory letter. Woman has her own way of doing things. Sypher was in. He would have finished for the day in about twenty minutes. Then he would come to her on the nearest approach to wings London locomotion provided. "Remember, it's something most particular that I want to see you about," said Zora.
Sypher thought: "And we both love you with all there is in us, and you don't know it." He also thought jealously: "Who are the people that have cared for you?" He said: "No one?" A smile parted her lips as she looked him frankly in the eyes and repeated the negative.
"After all," said Sypher on the way back Septimus, with his coat-collar turned up over his ears, still sat on guard by the chauffeur, consoled by a happy hour he had spent alone with his mistress after lunch, while Sypher was away putting the fear of God into his agent, during which hour he had unfolded to her his scientific philosophy of perambulators "after all," said Sypher, "the great thing is to have a Purpose in Life.
As has been remarked before, Sypher was a man of Napoleonic methods. He called for a telegraph form, and wrote as he stood, with the tray as a desk: "If you can't buy advertising rights on St. Paul's Cathedral or Westminster Abbey, secure outside pages of usual dailies for Thursday. Will draw up 'ad' myself." He gave it to the servant, smiled in anticipation of the battle, and felt better.
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