Rolling Stones by O. Henry
page 91 of 304 (29%)
page 91 of 304 (29%)
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He pointed to the table, where lay an orderly pile of banknotes, surmounted by two stacks of gold coins. "The money is there--as he described it--eight hundred and thirty dollars. I beg to leave my card with you, in case I can be of any service later on." So, he had thought of her--and kindly--at the last! So late! And yet the lie fanned into life one last spark of tenderness where she had thought all was turned to ashes and dust. She cried aloud "Rob! Rob!" She turned, and, upon the ready bosom of her true servitor, diluted her grief in relieving tears. It is well to think, also, that in the years to follow, the murderer's falsehood shone like a little star above the grave of love, comforting her, and gaining the forgiveness that is good in itself, whether asked for or no. Hushed and soothed upon the dark bosom, like a child, by a crooning, babbling sympathy, at last she raised her head--but the doctor was gone. [Illustration: "Will you go in?" (cartoon from _The Rolling Stone_)] THE MARQUIS AND MISS SALLY |
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