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s from noble ardour; but when it marks the feather-headed irresponsibility of the idiot, I cannot deprecate it too strongly.” Challenged, as it were, for a response, “I cordially agree with you, sir,” said Martin. “You two ought to know one another,” said Corinna. “This is my friend, Mr. Ove

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rshaw—Martin, let me introduce you to Mr. Daniel Fortinbras, Marchand de Bonheur.” Fortinbras extended a soft white hand and holding Martin’s benevolently: “Which b

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eing translated into our rougher speech,” said he, “means Dealer in Happiness.” “I wish you would provide me with some,” said Martin, laughingly. “And so do I,”

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said Corinna. Fortinbras drew a chair to the table and sat down. “My fee,” said he, “is five francs each, paid in advance.” CHAPTER II AT this unexpected announc

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Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa inventore veritatis et quasi architecto explicabo.

ement Martin exchanged a swift glance with Corinna. She smiled, drew a five franc piece from her purse and laid it on the table. Martin, wondering, did the same. The Marchand de Bonheur unbuttoned his frock coat and slipped the coins, with a professional air, in

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to his waistcoat pocket. “Mr. Overshaw,” said he, “you must understand, as our charming friend Corinna Hastings and indeed hal

Repairing

f the Quartier Latin understand, that for such happiness

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as it may be my good fortune to provide I do not charge

Shooting

one penny. But having to eke out a precarious livelihoo

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d, I make a fixed charge of five francs for every consul

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tation, no matter whether it be for ten minutes or ten h

Printing

ours. And for the matter of that, ten hours is not my li

  • mit. I am at your service for an indefinite period of time, provided it be continuous.” “That’s very good, indeed, of you,” said Martin. “I hope you’ll join us,” he added, as the waiter approached with thre

    Quisquam

  • e coffee cups. “No, I thank you. I have already had my after dinner coffee. But if I might take the liberty of ordering something else——?” “By all means,” said Martin hospitably. “What will you have? Cogna

    Bonorum

  • c? Liqueur? Whisky and soda?” Fortinbras held up his hand—it was the hand of a comfortable, drowsy prelate—and smiled. “I have not touched alcohol for many years. I find it blunts the delicacy of perception wh

    Finibus

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y on account of the central incident of the Last Supper, and to spill the salt as you are absent-mindedly doing, Corinna, is a vio

Et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus

lation of the sacred symbol of sworn friendship.” “That’s all very interesting,” said Corinna calmly. “But what are Martin Overshaw and I to d

Et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus

o to be happy?” Fortinbras looked from one to the other with benevolent shrewdness and inhaled a long puff of smoke. “What about our young medic

Et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus

al student friend, Camille Fargot?” Corinna flushed red—as only pale blondes can flush. “What do you know about Camille?” she demanded. “Ever

Et iusto odio dignissimos ducimus

ything—and nothing. Come, come. It’s my business to keep a paternal eye on you children. Where is he?” “Who the deuce is Camille?” thought Mar

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tin. “He’s at Bordeaux, safe in the arms of his ridiculous mother,” replied Corinna tartly. “Good, good,” said Fortinbras.

“And you, Mr. Overshaw, where is the lady on whom you have set

your affections?” Martin l

aughed frankly. “Heaven knows. There isn’t one. The Prince

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