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?©, Lyda Farrington

"We Ten Or, The Story of the Roses"

"There he comes!
_Now_, I hope you're satisfied; you _wouldn't_ go when you could."
Sure enough, the footsteps were almost at the door. I looked frantically
about. I would gladly have escaped through the window, and climbed over
the balcony to the ground; but to put aside the delicate lace curtains
and unlatch the sash would have taken more time than we had to spare.
Suddenly Phil cried, "The _portieres_, you dunce!" giving me a push in
that direction, and like a flash I got behind them. I heard Phil say
"Bother!" under his breath, as he stumbled over a footstool in his haste
to get seated, then the door opened, and some one entered the room.
Provoked as I was with Phil, I couldn't help hoping that his bonnet was
straight, and that he had on his shawl, for his figure wasn't as good as
mine. I heard a strange voice--Mr. Erveng's--say: "I'm sorry to have
kept you waiting so long, but I am extremely busy. Will you be kind
enough to state your business as briefly as possible?"
Then Phil began, imitating an old lady's voice to a nicety: "Having
heard that you publish a great many books, I thought you would like to
know of a very clever--really _re_markable--work which is being written
by a well-known scholar who lives in this street, and that perhaps you
would call on him and make him an offer for it.


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