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Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset), 1874-1965

"Moon and Sixpence"

He's quite alone."
"That's preposterous," cried Mrs. MacAndrew.
"I knew I ought to have gone over myself," said the Colonel.
"You can bet your boots I'd have routed her out fast enough."
"I wish you had gone over," I replied, somewhat tartly.
"You'd have seen that every one of your suppositions was wrong.
He's not at a smart hotel. He's living in one tiny
room in the most squalid way. If he's left his home, it's not
to live a gay life. He's got hardly any money."
"Do you think he's done something that we don't know about,
and is lying doggo on account of the police?"
The suggestion sent a ray of hope in all their breasts, but I
would have nothing to do with it.
"If that were so, he would hardly have been such a fool as to
give his partner his address," I retorted acidly.
"Anyhow, there's one thing I'm positive of, he didn't go
away with anyone. He's not in love. Nothing is farther
from his thoughts."
There was a pause while they reflected over my words.
"Well, if what you say is true," said Mrs. MacAndrew at last,
"things aren't so bad as I thought."
Mrs. Strickland glanced at her, but said nothing.


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