The Chronicles of Clovis
"It wasn't that sort of return," explained Clovis; "it was a home-coming."
"I thought you said it was a tragedy."
"Well, it was. He was killed in his bathroom, you know."
"Oh, now I know the story, of course. Do you want me to take the part of Charlotte Corday?"
"That's a different story and a different century," said Clovis; "the dramatic unities forbid one to lay a scene in more than one century at a time. The killing in this case has to be done by Clytemnestra."
"Rather a pretty name. I'll do that part. I suppose you want to be Aga—whatever his name is?"
"Dear no. Agamemnon was the father of grown-up children, and probably wore a beard and looked prematurely aged. I shall be his charioteer or bath-attendant, or something decorative of that kind. We must do everything in the Sumurun manner, you know."
"I don't know," said the Baroness; "at least, I should know better if you would explain exactly what you mean by the Sumurun manner."
Clovis obliged: "Weird music, and exotic
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