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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Yellow Crayon"

"
Mr. Sabin smiled.
"Do not be alarmed," he said, "even though it will sound to you the
least likely place in the world. We are going to Berlin."

CHAPTER XLIII
The great room was dimly enough lit, for the windows looking out
upon the street were high and heavily curtained, The man who sat
at the desk was almost in the shadow. Yet every now and then a
shaft of sunlight fell across his pale, worn face. A strange
combination this of the worker, the idealist, the man of affairs.
From outside came the hum of a great city. At times, too, there
came to his ears as he sat here the roar of nations at strife,
the fierce underneath battle of the great countries of the world
struggling for supremacy. And here at this cabinet this man sat
often, and listened, strenuous, romantic, with the heart of a lion
and the lofty imagination of an eagle, he steered unswervingly on
to her destiny a great people. Others might rest, but never he.
He looked up from the letter spread out before him. Lucille was
seated at his command, a few yards away. Mr. Sabin stood
respectfully before him.
"Monsieur le Duc," he said, "this letter, penned by my illustrious
father to you, is sufficient to secure my good offices. In what
manner can I serve you?"
"Your Majesty," Mr. Sabin answered, "in the first place by
receiving me here.


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