Excerpt from Susan Lenox, Her Fall and Rise With a Portrait of the Author, Vol. 1
Even now I cannot realize that he is dead, and often in the city streets - on Fifth Avenue in particular - I find myself glancing ahead for a glimpse of the tall, boyish, familiar figure - experience once again a flash of the old happy expectancy.
I have lived in many lands, and have known men. I never knew a finer man than Graham Phillips.
His were the clearest, bluest, most honest eyes I ever saw - eyes that scorned untruth - eyes that penetrated all sham.
In repose his handsome features were a trifle stern - and the magic of his smile was the more wonderful - such a sunny, youthful, engaging smile.
His mere presence in a room was exhilarating. It seemed to freshen the very air with a keen sweetness almost pungent.
He was tall, spare, leisurely, iron-strong; yet figure, features and bearing were delightfully boyish.
Men liked him, women liked him when he liked them.
He was the most honest man I ever knew, clean in mind, clean-cut in body, a little over-serious perhaps, except when among intimates; a little prone to hoist the burdens of the world on his young shoulders.
His was a knightly mind; a paladin character.
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