Young Lives by Richard Le Gallienne
page 130 of 266 (48%)
page 130 of 266 (48%)
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"But now you're going to read my poem," she said, presently. "Yes; but something has to happen before I can read it," said Henry, growing unaccountably serious; "for it is in the nature of a prophecy, or at all events of an anticipation. You have to fulfil that prophecy first." "It seems to me a very mysterious poem. But what have I to do?" "I don't know whether you can do it." "Well, what is it? Try me." "Oh, Angel, I care nothing about poems. Can't you see how I love you? That's all poetry will ever mean to me. Just to say over and over again, 'I love Angel.' Just to find new and wonderful ways of saying that--" "Listen, Henry. I've loved you from the first moment I saw you that day talking to father, and I shall love you till I die." "Dear, dear Angel!" "Henry!" Then Henry's arms enfolded Angel with wonderful love, and her fresh young lips were on his, and the world faded away like a dream within a dream. * * * * * |
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