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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"Flames"

I hardly look at her, and I see so many."
"Yes, yes, no doubt. And the gentleman. When you went into his room?"
"Ah! He was half sitting up. I come in. He just look at me. He fall back.
He is dead. He say nothing. Then I--I run."
"That's all I wanted to know," Julian said. "Valentine, shall we go?"
"By all means."
The landlord seemed relieved at their decision, and eagerly let them
out into the pouring rain. When they were in the dismal strip of garden
Julian turned and looked up at the lit windows of the bedroom on the
first story. Marr was lying there in the bright illumination at ease,
relieved of his soul. But, as Julian looked, the two windows suddenly
grew dark. Evidently the economical landlord had hastened up, observed
the waste of the material he had to pay for, and abruptly stopped it.
At the gate they called a cab.
"No; let us have the glass up," Julian said; "a drop of rain more or less
doesn't matter. And I want some air."
"So do I," said Valentine. "The atmosphere of that house was abominable."
"Of course there can be no two opinions as to its character," Julian
said.
"Of course not."
"What a dreary place to die in!"
"Yes. But does it matter where one dies? I think not.


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