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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"Victory"


"I believe you," she said ardently. He was touched by this declaration.
"It's the way you have of speaking as if you were amused with people,"
she went on. "But I wasn't deceived. I could see you were angry with
that beast of a woman. And you are clever. You spotted something at
once. You saw it in my face, eh? It isn't a bad face--say? You'll never
be sorry. Listen--I'm not twenty yet. It's the truth, and I can't be so
bad looking, or else--I will tell you straight that I have been worried
and pestered by fellows like this before. I don't know what comes to
them--"
She was speaking hurriedly. She choked, and then exclaimed, with an
accent of despair:
"What is it? What's the matter?"
Heyst had removed his arms from her suddenly, and had recoiled a little.
"Is it my fault? I didn't even look at them, I tell you straight. Never!
Have I looked at you? Tell me. It was you that began it."
In truth, Heyst had shrunk from the idea of competition with fellows
unknown, with Schomberg the hotel-keeper. The vaporous white figure
before him swayed pitifully in the darkness. He felt ashamed of his
fastidiousness.
"I am afraid we have been detected," he murmured. "I think I saw
somebody on the path between the house and the bushes behind you."
He had seen no one. It was a compassionate lie, if there ever was one.
His compassion was as genuine as his shrinking had been, and in his
judgement more honourable.


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