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Rolling Stones by O. Henry
page 91 of 304 (29%)

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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