| Author: | E. Phillips Oppenheim | ISBN: | 1230000034322 |
| Publisher: | AP Publishing House | Publication: | November 30, 2012 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | E. Phillips Oppenheim |
| ISBN: | 1230000034322 |
| Publisher: | AP Publishing House |
| Publication: | November 30, 2012 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
My first impulse, on glancing through Mr. Marx’s brief note, was to show it to Mr. Ravenor; but, after a second’s consideration, I changed my mind. Mr. Marx was a complete mystery to me. At times it seemed possible that the interest which he undoubtedly showed in me was genuine and kindly, and I struggled against my dislike of the man. Then I remembered his brutal conduct to the lunatic and the other inexplicable parts of his behaviour, and the darkest suspicions and doubts began to take shape in my imagination.
There was something altogether mysterious about him—his connection with Mr. Ravenor and his manner towards myself. I was puzzled and more than half inclined to decide against the man whom personally I had grown to detest. But, on the other hand, I was young and still an optimist with regard to my fellow-men.
What harm had I done Mr. Marx, and why should he seek to injure me? It seemed improbable, almost ridiculous. So in the end a certain sense of fairness induced me to respect his postscript, and I said nothing to Mr. Ravenor about his secretary’s warning.
My first impulse, on glancing through Mr. Marx’s brief note, was to show it to Mr. Ravenor; but, after a second’s consideration, I changed my mind. Mr. Marx was a complete mystery to me. At times it seemed possible that the interest which he undoubtedly showed in me was genuine and kindly, and I struggled against my dislike of the man. Then I remembered his brutal conduct to the lunatic and the other inexplicable parts of his behaviour, and the darkest suspicions and doubts began to take shape in my imagination.
There was something altogether mysterious about him—his connection with Mr. Ravenor and his manner towards myself. I was puzzled and more than half inclined to decide against the man whom personally I had grown to detest. But, on the other hand, I was young and still an optimist with regard to my fellow-men.
What harm had I done Mr. Marx, and why should he seek to injure me? It seemed improbable, almost ridiculous. So in the end a certain sense of fairness induced me to respect his postscript, and I said nothing to Mr. Ravenor about his secretary’s warning.
