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?©, Lyda Farrington

"We Ten Or, The Story of the Roses"

"Shall I give your love?"
Felix caught him by the arm. "_Don't_ go, Phil," he pleaded; "_don't_ go
back to-night, _please_ don't. We've had enough of them for one evening.
Come, let's go upstairs. Won't you? I have a good reason for what I'm
asking, and I'll explain to-morrow."
Phil came a step or two forward, shaking Fee's hand off. "Look here!" he
said sharply, "this thing might's well be settled right here, and once
for all. I'm a man, not a child, I'll have you to understand, and I'm
not going to be controlled by you. Just remember that, and don't try any
more of your little games on me, as you have to-night, for I _will not_
stand 'em! The idea of your coming up there among those fellows and
making such an ass of yourself--"
"The asinine part of this evening's performance belongs to you and your
friends, not to me," broke in Felix, hotly,--Phil's tone was _so_
insolent. "And there are a few things that _you_ might as well
understand, too," he went on more calmly. "If you continue to go to
Chad's, I shall go, too; if you make those fellows your boon companions,
they shall be mine as well; if you continue to drink and gamble, as
you've been doing lately, and to-night, I will drink and gamble, too.


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