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Thelma by Marie Corelli
page 52 of 774 (06%)
pearl and silver, the symbol of the Christian faith. But it seemed
to carry no sacred suggestions to the soul of Mr. Dyceworthy. On the
contrary, he looked at it with an expression of meek ridicule,--
ridicule that bordered on contempt.

"A Roman," he murmured placidly to himself, between two large bites
of toast. "The girl is a Roman, and thereby hopelessly damned."

And he smiled again,--more sweetly than before, as though the idea
of hopeless damnation suggested some peculiarly agreeable
reflections. Unfolding his fine cologne-scented cambric
handkerchief, he carefully wiped his fat white fingers free from the
greasy marks of the toast, and, taking up the objectionable cross
gingerly, as though it were red-hot, he examined it closely on all
sides. There were some words engraved on the back of it, and after
some trouble Mr. Dyceworthy spelt them out. They were "Passio
Christi, conforta me. Thelma."

He shook his head with a sort of resigned cheerfulness.

"Hopelessly damned," he murmured again gently, "unless--"

What alternative suggested itself to his mind was not precisely
apparent, for his thoughts suddenly turned in a more frivolous
direction. Rising from the now exhausted tea-table, he drew out a
small pocket-mirror and surveyed himself therein with a mild
approval. With the extreme end of his handkerchief he tenderly
removed two sacrilegious crumbs that presumed to linger in the
corners of his piously pursed mouth. In the same way he detached a
morsel of congealed butter that clung pertinaciously to the end of
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