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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"

It is the only consolation fate gives us. It is
like a conqueror asking the vanquished to witness the looting. All
roads lead to Rome, and all proverbs are merely sign posts by which we
pursue our destinies. And how was I to get to Rome? I knew not. Hope
is better than clairvoyance.
Was Phyllis right when she said that I did not truly love her? I
believed not. Should I go on loving her all my life? Undoubtedly I
should. As to affinities, I had met mine, but it had proved a
one-sided affair.
It was after ten by the clock when I remembered that I was to meet the
lawyer, the arbiter of my new fortunes. Money is a balm for most
things, and coupled with travel it might lead me to forget.
He was the family lawyer, and he had come all the way North to see that
I received my uncle's bequest. He was bent, gray and partially bald.
He must have been close to seventy, but for all that there was a
youthful twinkle in his eyes as he took my card and looked up into my
face.
"So you are John Winthrop?" he said in way of preliminary. You may
hand a card case full of your name to a lawyer, and still he will
insist upon a verbal admission.


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