The War of the Wenuses by E. V. (Edward Verrall) Lucas;C. L. Graves
page 32 of 49 (65%)
page 32 of 49 (65%)
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"Was I?" he said, "that's rum, but I always mix you up with the man you admire so much--Jools Werne. And," he added with a sly look, "you _do_ admire him, don't you?" In a flash I saw the man plain. He was a critic. I knew my duty at once: I must kill him. I did not want to kill him, because I had already killed enough--the curate in the last book, and the Examiner and the landlord of the "Dog and Measles" in this,--but an author alone with a critic in deserted London! What else could I do? He seemed to divine my thought. "There's some immature champagne in the cellar," he said. "No," I replied, thinking aloud; "too slow, too slow." He endeavoured to pacify me. "Let me teach you a game," he said. He taught me one--he taught me several. We began with "Spadille," we ended with "Halma" and "Snap," for parliament points. That is to say, instead of counters we used M.Ps. Grotesque and foolish as this will seem to the sober reader, it is absolutely true. Strange mind of man! that, with our species being mashed all around, we could sit following the chance of this painted pasteboard. Afterwards we tried "Tiddleywinks" and "Squails," and I beat him so persistently that both sides of the House were mine and my geniality |
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