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

"The Devil's Paw"

"
"As you yourself," Julian remarked, "are somewhat concerned in
this matter, I think it would be well if you came with the
others."
"I am not going to stir from this room," Fenn declared doggedly.
"I have my own work to do. And as to my being concerned with what
you have to say, I'll thank you to mind your own business and
leave mine alone."
"Mr. Fenn," the Bishop interposed, "I beg to offer you my advice
that you join us at once in the Council room."
Julian and Catherine had already left the room. Fenn leaned
forward, and there was an altered note in his tone.
"What's it mean, Bishop?" he asked hoarsely. "Are they ratting,
those two?"
"What we have come here to say," the Bishop rejoined, "must be
said to every one."
He turned away. Fenn and Bright exchanged quick glances.
"What do you make of it?" asked Fenn.
"They've changed their minds," Bright muttered, "that's all.
They're theorists. Damn all theorists! They just blow bubbles to
destroy them. As for the girl, she's been at parties all the
evening, as we know."
"You're right," Fenn acknowledged. "I was a fool. Come on."
Many of the delegates had the air of being glad to escape for a
few minutes from their tasks. One or two of them entered the
room, carrying a cup of coffee or cocoa. Most of them were
smoking. Fenn and Bright made their appearance last of all. The
latter made a feeble attempt at a good-humoured remark.
"Is this a pause for refreshments?" he asked.


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