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POEMS IN PROSE

The other workman. Yes; . . . what of it?

The first workman. They're going to hang him to-day, I heard say; that 's the order.

The second workman. Did he keep on resisting the authorities?

The first workman. He kept on.

The second workman. Ah! . . . Now, I say, mate, couldn't we get hold of a bit of the rope they're going to hang him with? They do say, it brings good luck to a house!

The first workman. You're right there. We'll have a try for it, mate.

April 1878.


THE ROSE

The last days of August. . . . Autumn was already at hand.

The sun was setting. A sudden downpour of rain, without thunder or lightning, had just passed rapidly over our wide plain.

The garden in front of the house glowed and steamed, all filled with the fire of the sunset and the deluge of rain.

She was sitting at a table in the drawing-

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