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CHAPTER VI "I was the Flail of the Lord"

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    LordJohnRoxtonandIturneddownVigoStreettogetherandthroughthedingyportalsofthefamousaristocraticrookery.Attheendofalongdrabpassagemynewacquaintancepushedopenadoorandturnedonanelectricswitch.Anumberoflampsshiningthroughtintedshadesbathedthewholegreatroombeforeusinaruddyradiance.Standinginthedoorwayandglancingroundme,Ihadageneralimpressionofextraordinarycomfortandelegancecombinedwithanatmosphereofmasculinevirility.Everywherethereweremingledtheluxuryofthewealthymanoftasteandthecarelessuntidinessofthebachelor.RichfursandstrangeiridescentmatsfromsomeOrientalbazaarwerescattereduponthefloor.Picturesandprintswhichevenmyunpractisedeyescouldrecognizeasbeingofgreatpriceandrarityhungthickuponthewalls.Sketchesofboxers,ofballet-girls,andofracehorsesalternatedwithasensuousFragonard,amartialGirardet,andadreamyTurner.ButamidthesevariedornamentstherewerescatteredthetrophieswhichbroughtbackstronglytomyrecollectionthefactthatLordJohnRoxtonwasoneofthegreatall-roundsportsmenandathletesofhisday.Adark-blueoarcrossedwithacherry-pinkoneabovehismantel-piecespokeoftheoldOxonianandLeanderman,whilethefoilsandboxing-glovesaboveandbelowthemwerethetoolsofamanwhohadwonsupremacywitheach.Likeadadoroundtheroomwasthejuttinglineofsplendidheavygame-heads,thebestoftheirsortfromeveryquarteroftheworld,withtherarewhiterhinocerosoftheLadoEnclavedroopingitssuperciliouslipabovethemall. InthecenteroftherichredcarpetwasablackandgoldLouisQuinzetable,alovelyantique,nowsacrilegiouslydesecratedwithmarksofglassesandthescarsofcigar-stumps.Onitstoodasilvertrayofsmokablesandaburnishedspirit-stand,fromwhichandanadjacentsiphonmysilenthostproceededtochargetwohighglasses.Havingindicatedanarm-chairtomeandplacedmyrefreshmentnearit,hehandedmealong,smoothHavana.Then,seatinghimselfoppositetome,helookedatmelongandfixedlywithhisstrange,twinkling,recklesseyes—eyesofacoldlightblue,thecolorofaglacierlake. Throughthethinhazeofmycigar-smokeInoted
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