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Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset), 1874-1965

"The Magician"

He
stopped at the door to look at her. Their eyes met. His heart beat
quickly, and yet he was seized with awe. His good fortune was too great
to bear, when he thought that this priceless treasure was his. He could
have knelt down and worshipped as though a goddess of old Greece stood
before him. And to him also her eyes had changed. They had acquired a
burning passion which disturbed and yet enchanted him. It seemed that the
lovely girl was changed already into a lovely woman. An enigmatic smile
came to her lips.
'Are you pleased?' she asked.
Arthur came forward and Margaret put her hands on his shoulders.
'You have scent on,' he said.
He was surprised, for she had never used it before. It was a faint,
almost acrid perfume that he did not know. It reminded him vaguely of
those odours which he remembered in his childhood in the East. It was
remote and strange. It gave Margaret a new and troubling charm. There had
ever been something cold in her statuesque beauty, but this touch somehow
curiously emphasized her sex.


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