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The Forger

by Caroline Conrad


His name was Julian Desoix, a French sounding name, but he certainly had an English face, a fair, fresh, beautiful countenance, with eyes of azure, and clear as crystal, and yellow, clustering hair that a woman might have envied him, it was so soft and lustrous.

He was the handsomest man I ever saw. If I had been a woman I should have fallen in love with him. Being a man I hated him the moment I beheld him, because Amy Leisle was hanging upon his arm and looking up at him with that angel smile of hers, which had been my heaven ever since I could remember.

Desoix was a comparative stranger at Rushbrook—an artist, he called himself—a man with no antecedents that he would tell; that is, he never talked of himself, nor could be induced to. As for his being an artist, though he had a lot of pictures and easels in his room at… Read More