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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 03, No. 17, March, 1859"

Mr. Lindsay received the intelligence
with more firmness than might have been expected.
"Monroe, my friend,--for I can truly call you so,--you have done what
you could. It was not your fault that your agent deceived and swindled
you. You generously offered me your all. I shall never forget it. I
can't say more now. Please stay and inform the notary, when he comes,
that he must take the usual course. Tell John, when he comes with the
brougham, that he may drive back. I shall take the cars to-day, and
shall not be at home, probably, until after tea. I pray God, Monroe,
that you may never go home as I do now. O Clara, my daisy, my darling!
how can I tell you?"
Still murmuring to himself, Mr. Lindsay slowly walked out of the
counting-room.
It was not strange, that, under the pressure of his own calamity, Mr.
Lindsay had no thought for the losses of others. He forgot that Monroe
was really in a far worse position, since, if the ten thousand dollars
were lost, it was his all. Neither did Monroe, at first, reflect upon
his own impending misfortune; he had been so intent upon preserving the
credit of the house, that his own interest had been lost sight of.


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