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Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn, 1857-1948

"Sleeping Fires: a Novel"

He had declared that the projected
newspaper was to be the greatest in America. She had smiled at his
boyish enthusiasm, but without it she would probably have forgotten
him. She had resented his presence at the time.
Of course he hated her. But she had come too far to fail. He passed
her table a few moments later and she held out her hand with her
sweetest smile.
"Sit down a moment," she said with her pretty air of command; and
although his face did not relax he could do no less than obey.
"I feel more comfortable," she said. "I had no idea I should be the
only lady here. But Mr. Masters so often spoke to me of this
restaurant that I have always meant to visit it." She did not flutter
an eyelash as she uttered Masters' name, and her lovely eyes seemed
wooing Holt to remain at her side.
"Heartless, like all the rest of them," thought the young man
wrathfully. "Well, I'll give her one straight."
"Have you heard from him lately?" she asked, as the waiter placed
the dishes on the table. "He hasn't written to one of his old friends
since he left, and I've often wondered what has become of him."
"He's gone to the devil!" said Holt brutally. "And I guess you know
where the blame lies--Oh!--Drink this!" He hastily poured out a glass
of claret.


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