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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"


He came in at last, after tapping very lightly on the door-panel,
unsolicited and unexpected, to my presence--the same inscrutable,
hirsute horror I had seen before, with his trudging, scraping walk, his
square and stalwart frame, his gloved extremities, his light,
blue-glasses, hat and cane in hand, a being as I felt to chill one's
very marrow.
"Is it true vat I hear," he asked, pausing at some distance, "dat you
vant to have dat leetle hompback chilt for a companion, Miss Monfort?"
"It is true, Dr. Englehart."
"And vat can your motif be? Heh? I must study dat for a leetle before I
can decide de question, or even trost him as a human being in your
hands."
"Lunatics are rarely governed by motives at all," I replied, "only
impulses. I want human companionship, however, that is all. I sicken in
this solitude--I am dying of mental inanition."
"It is true, you look delicate indeed, I am pained to see." The accent
was forgotten here for a moment, and an expression of real sympathy was
perceivable in his low, husky voice. "Command me in any way dat accords
wid my duty," he continued, "yes! de boy shall come! To interest, to
amuse you, is perhaps--to cure!"
"Thank you; I shall await his advent anxiously; be careful not to
disappoint me."
"Oh, not for vorlds!"
"You are very kind; I believe, though, that is all we have to say to one
another, Dr.


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