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Sinclair, Upton, 1878-1968

"They Call Me Carpenter"

I was led to a vast plush sofa, and sank into it with a sigh
of relief.
The stranger stood beside me, and put his hand on my head once more.
It was truly a miracle, how the whirling and roaring ceased, and
peace came back to me; it must have shown in my face, for the moving
picture critic of the Western City "Times" stood watching me with a
quizzical smile playing over his face. I could read his thoughts, as
well as if he had uttered them: "Regular Svengali stuff, by God!"

VIII

I was so comfortable there, I did not care what happened. I closed
my eyes for a while; then I opened them and gazed lazily about the
place. I noted that all the birds of paradise were watching
Carpenter. With one accord their heads had turned, and their eyes
were riveted upon him. I found myself thinking. "This man will make
a hit with the ladies!" Like the swamis, with their soft brown
skins, and their large, dark, cow-like eyes!
There had been silence in the place. But suddenly we all heard a
moan; I felt Carpenter start, and his hand left my head.


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