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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

All at once he could bear this
implacable sphinx-gaze no longer.
"I'm sure some other day would be better," he urged,
with an open overture to propitiation in his tone.
"You're not in the mood to be bothered with my affairs today."
"As much today as any other," Thorpe answered him, slowly.
The other sat suddenly upright--and then upon a moment's
reflection rose to his feet. "I don't in the least know what
to make of all this," he said, with nervous precipitancy.
"If I've offended you in any way, say so, and I will
apologize at once. But treatment of this sort passes
my comprehension."
Thorpe in truth did not himself comprehend it much
more clearly. Some strange freak of wilfulness impelled
him to pursue this unintelligible persecution.
"I've said nothing about any offense," he declared,
in a hard, deliberate voice. "It is your own word.
All the same--I mention the name of a lady--a lady,
mind you, whom I met under your own roof--and you strike
attitudes and put on airs as if--as if I wasn't good enough!"
"Oh, upon my word, that's all rubbish!" the other broke in.
"Nothing could have been further from my thoughts,
I assure you. Quite naturally I was surprised for the
moment at a bit of unexpected news--but that was all.
I give you my word that was all."
"Very well, then," Thorpe consented grudgingly to mutter.


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