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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"

I have yet to meet one who is not frankness itself. At
your pleasure!"
And the four of us left the inn and crossed the field. The first shot
fell to me. Pembroke's eyes beamed with exultant light. Von Walden's
face was without expression. As for the Prince, he still wore that
bantering smile. He was confident of the end. He knew that I was a
tyro, whereas he had faced death many times. I sighed. I knew that I
should not aim to take his life. I was absolutely without emotion;
there was not the slightest tremble in my hand as I accepted the
pistol. There is nothing like set purpose to still the tremors of a
man's nerves. I thought of Hillars, and for a moment my arm stiffened;
then I recalled Gretchen's last letter. . . . I fell to wondering
where the bullet would hit me. I prayed that his aim might be sure.
"Many persons think that I am a man without compassion," said the
Prince, as we were about to step to our places. "I have an abundance
of it. You have everything to lose, and I have nothing to gain. If it
is your desire, I shall be happy to explain that you wish to withdraw.


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