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Fuller, Henry Blake, 1857-1929

"Bertram Cope's Year"

"Breakfast----"
"To-morrow is one of my busy days," replied Cope wanly. "Goldsmith,
Sheridan...."
"Well, we have other wage-workers in the house, you know. At seven-thirty,
then, if you must."
"Seven-thirty, if you please. Thank you."
By the time Mrs. Phillips had returned to her guests, the first of the
limousines was standing before the house; its wet top shone under an
electric globe. Her own car, meanwhile, obdurately reposed in its garage.
Presently a second limousine joined the first, and a third the second; and
in another quarter of an hour her guests were well on their way to
dispersal. She bade them all goodnight in the best of good humor.
"You've never before had quite such an evening as this, I'm sure!" she
said, with great gaiety.
"Isn't it wonderful how she took it all!" said one lady to another, on the
back seat of her car. "Anything like that would have thrown me off
completely."
The other lady laughed amusedly. She often found our Medora "great fun."
Meanwhile, Cope, up stairs, was sinking deeper and deeper into his big,
wide, overupholstered bed. And as his body sank, his spirit sank with it.


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