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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Puppet Crown"

Again, he
inspected the bars. These were comparatively new. It was about
thirty feet to the court below. On the whole, the outlook was
discouraging.
"Count," said the distant relative of the house of Amerbach,
"how shall I begin?"
"I am not a diplomat, Madame," answered the Colonel. "If,
however, you wish the advice of a soldier, I should begin by
asking if my lord the Englishman has those consols about his
person."
"Fie, count!" she cried, laughing; "one would say that was a
prelude to robbery."
"So they would. As for myself, I prefer violence to words. If we
take these pretty papers by violence, we shall still have left
our friend the Englishman his self-respect. And as for words,
while my acquaintance with our friend is slight, I should say
that they would only be wasted here."
The whistle from the window still rose and fell.
"Monsieur, I have it in my power to make you rich."
"I am rich," replied Fitzgerald.
"In honors?"
"Madame, the title I have is already a burden to me." Fitzgerald
laughed, which announced that the cause of the duchess was not
getting on very well. Once or twice he raised the tortoiseshell
rim to his eye, but dropped it; force of habit was difficult to
overcome.


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