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James, Henry, 1843-1916

"The Death of the Lion"

Morrow
ejaculated. "My cab was at the door twenty minutes after The
Empire had been laid on my breakfast-table. Now what have you got
for me?" he continued, dropping again into his chair, from which,
however, he the next moment eagerly rose. "I was shown into the
drawing-room, but there must be more to see--his study, his
literary sanctum, the little things he has about, or other domestic
objects and features. He wouldn't be lying down on his study-
table? There's a great interest always felt in the scene of an
author's labours. Sometimes we're favoured with very delightful
peeps. Dora Forbes showed me all his table-drawers, and almost
jammed my hand into one into which I made a dash! I don't ask that
of you, but if we could talk things over right there where he sits
I feel as if I should get the keynote."
I had no wish whatever to be rude to Mr. Morrow, I was much too
initiated not to tend to more diplomacy; but I had a quick
inspiration, and I entertained an insurmountable, an almost
superstitious objection to his crossing the threshold of my
friend's little lonely shabby consecrated workshop. "No, no--we
shan't get at his life that way," I said.


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