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Phillips, David Graham, 1867-1911

"The Conflict"

The result of thirty-five years of
this life, so unnatural to an animal that is designed by Nature
for walking and is punished for not doing so-- the result of a
lifetime of this folly was a body shrivelled to a lean brown
husk, legs incredibly meagre and so tottery that they scarcely
could bear him about. His head--large and finely shaped--seemed
so out of proportion that he looked at a glance senile. But no
one who had business dealings with him suspected him of senility
or any degree of weakness. He spoke in a thin dry voice,
shrouded in sardonic humor.
``I don't care for lunch,'' said Jane, dropping to a chair near
the side of the table opposite her father. ``I had breakfast too
late. Besides, I've got to look out for my figure. There's a
tendency to fat in our family.''
The old man chuckled. ``Me, for instance,'' said he.
``Martha, for instance,'' replied Jane. Martha was her one
sister--married and ten years older than she and spaciously
matronly.
``Wasn't that Davy Hull you were talking to, down in the woods?''
inquired her father.
Jane laughed. ``You see everything,'' said she.
``I didn't see much when I saw him,'' said her father.
Jane was hugely amused. Her father watched her laughter--the
dazzling display of fine teeth--with delighted eyes. ``You've
got mighty good teeth, Jenny,'' observed he. ``Take care of 'em.
You'll never know what misery is till you've got no teeth--or
next to none.


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