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Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1809-1894

"The Poet at the Breakfast-Table"

In these pursuits I had passed the larger part of my
half-century of existence, as yet with little satisfaction. It was on
the morning of my fiftieth birthday that the solution of the great
problem I had sought so long came to me as a simple formula, with a few
grand but obvious inferences. I will repeat the substance of this final
intuition:
The one central fact an the Order of Things which solves all questions
is:
At this moment we were interrupted by a knock at the Master's door. It
was most inopportune, for he was on the point of the great disclosure,
but common politeness compelled him to answer it, and as the step which
we had heard was that of one of the softer-footed sex, he chose to rise
from his chair and admit his visitor.
This visitor was our Landlady. She was dressed with more than usual
nicety, and her countenance showed clearly that she came charged with an
important communication.
--I did n't low there was company with you, said the Landlady,--but it's
jest as well. I've got something to tell my boarders that I don't want
to tell them, and if I must do it, I may as well tell you all at once as
one to a time. I 'm agoing to give up keeping boarders at the end of
this year,--I mean come the end of December.
She took out a white handkerchief, at hand in expectation of what was to
happen, and pressed it to her eyes.


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