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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"Nobody's Man"


"But you have turned pagan!" she cried.
"An instant's revolt against the methodism of life," he replied, his
feet once more upon the earth. "But the feeling's there, all the same,"
he went on doggedly. "I want to leave school. I have been there so
long. It seems to me my holiday is overdue."
She passed her arm through his. She was a very clever and a very
understanding woman.
"That comes of your having ignored us," she murmured.
"It isn't my fault if I have," he reminded her.
"In a sense it is," she insisted. "The woman in your life should be the
most beautiful part of it. You chose to make her the stepping-stone to
your ambition. Consequently you go through life hungry, you wait till
you almost starve, and then suddenly the greatest things in the world
which lie to your hand seem like baubles."
"You are hideously logical," he grumbled.
They were walking slower now, within a few yards of the entrance to her
flat. Both of them were a little disturbed,--she, full as she was with
all the generous impulses of sensuous humanity, intensely awakened,
intensely sympathetic.


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