The Prophet of Berkeley Square by Robert Smythe Hichens
page 58 of 390 (14%)
page 58 of 390 (14%)
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quarter?" said Malkiel, with pitying amazement.
The Prophet blushed with shame. "I beg your pardon. Of course--I understand. Pray go on." "It made for loneliness, sir." "Naturally." "Their hours were not our hours. And then the professional colour! Madame said it was like living among the Sandwich Islanders. And so, to an extent, it was. My father had left a very tidy bit of money--a very tidy bit indeed, and we resolved to move. But where? That was the problem. For I was not as other men. I could not live like them--in the Berkeley Square." He smiled with mournful superiority and continued,-- "At least I thought so then, and have done till to-day. Prophets--so my father believed, and so Madame--must be connected with the suburbs or with outlying districts. They must not, indeed they cannot, be properly prophetic within the radius. A central atmosphere would reduce them to the level of the conjuror or the muscular suggestionist. Malkiel the First, my father, was born himself in Peckham, and met my mother when coming through the rye." He brushed aside a tear that flowed at this almost rustic recollection, and continued,-- |
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