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

"Nobody's Man"

--He found his
way to the club and ate sandwiches with one or two other men, also just
released from the House, but the more he tried to compose himself, the
more he was conscious of a sort of fierce restlessness that drove the
blood through his veins at feverish pace. He wandered from room to
room, played a game of billiards, chafing all the time at the necessity
of finishing the game. He hurried away, pleading an appointment. In
the hall he met Greening, who led him at once to a secluded corner.
"Prepared with your apologia, Tallente?" he enquired.
"It's in your office at the present moment," Tallente replied, "finished
this morning."
Greening stroked his beard. He was a lank, rather cadaverous man, with
a face like granite and eyes like polished steel. Few men had anything
to say against him. No one liked him.
"How are you regarding the appearance of these outpourings of yours,
Tallente?" he asked.
"With equanimity," was the calm rejoinder. "I think I told you what I
thought of you and your journalism for having any dealings with a thief
and for making yourself a receiver of stolen property.


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