There was a special reference to one of
Fuge's most dramatic recitals--a narration of a night spent in a
boat on Ham Lake with two beautiful girls, sisters, natives of the
Five Towns, where Fuge was born. Said the obituarist: 'Those two
wonderful creatures who played so large a part in Simon Fuge's
life.'
This death was a shock to me. It took away my ennui for the rest
of the journey. I too had known Simon Fuge. That is to say, I had
met him once, at a soiree, and on that single occasion, as luck
had it, he had favoured the company with the very narration to
which the Gazette contributor referred. I remembered well the
burning brilliance of his blue-black eyes, his touching assurance
that all of us were necessarily interested in his adventures, and
the extremely graphic and convincing way in which he reconstituted
for us the nocturnal scene on Ham Lake--the two sisters, the boat,
the rustle of trees, the lights on shore, and his own difficulty
in managing the oars, one of which he lost for half-an-hour and
found again. It was by such details as that about the oar that,
with a tint of humour, he added realism to the romantic quality of
his tales. He seemed to have no reticences concerning himself.
Decidedly he allowed things to be understood...! Yes, his was a
romantic figure, the figure of one to whom every day, and every
hour of the day, was coloured by the violence of his passion for
existence.
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