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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"

I thought of the old
lawyer and the thousand-dollar check; the night at the opera with
Phyllis; the meeting of Hillars and his story. "When there is nothing
more to live for, it is time to die." If there was such a place as
Elysium in the nether world, Hillars and I should talk it all over
there. It is pleasant to contemplate the fact that when we are dead we
shall know "the reason why."
"Come along," said Pembroke, entering.
So we went to the opera. They are full of wonderful scenes, these
continental opera houses. Here and there one sees the brilliant
uniforms, blue and scarlet and brown, glittering with insignias and
softened by furs. Old men with sashes crossing the white bosoms of
their linen dominate the boxes, and the beauty of woman is often lost
in the sparkle of jewels. And hovering over all is an oppressive
fragrance. Pembroke's glasses were roving about. Presently he touched
my arm.
"In the upper proscenium," he said.
It was Phyllis. The Chancellor and the Grand Duke of S---- were with
her.
"We shall visit her during the first intermission," said I.


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