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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

His pursed lips and knitted brows were
eloquent of intense mental activity.
"Well, do you see any objections to it?" demanded Thorpe,
at last.
"I do not quite see the reasons for it,"
answered the other, slowly. "What would you gain by it?"
"How do you mean--gain?" put in the other, with peremptory
intolerance of tone.
General Kervick spread his hands in a quick little gesture.
These hands were withered, but remarkably well-kept. "I
suppose one doesn't do something for nothing," he said.
"I see what I would gain, and what she would gain,
but I confess I don't see what advantage you would get out
of it."
"No-o, I daresay you don't," assented Thorpe,
with sneering serenity. "But what does that matter? You
admit that you see what you would gain. That's enough,
isn't it?"
The older man's veined temples twitched for an instant.
He straightened himself in his chair, and looked hard at
his companion. There was a glistening of moisture about
his staring eyes.
"It surely isn't necessary--among gentlemen"--he began,
cautiously picking his phrases--"to have quite so much
that's unpleasant, is it?"
"No--you're right--I didn't mean to be so rough,"
Thorpe declared, with spontaneous contrition.
Upon the instant, however, he perceived the danger
that advantage might be taken of his softness.


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