Love, the Fiddler by Lloyd Osbourne
page 17 of 162 (10%)
page 17 of 162 (10%)
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"Frank," she said, slowly, fixing her lustrous eyes on his face,
"you usen't to be so grave. ... I don't think you have smiled much lately ... you are changed." He bore her scrutiny with silence. "Poor boy!" she exclaimed, impulsively taking his hand. "I'm the most heartless creature in the whole world. Do you know, Frank, though I look so nice and girlish, I am really a brute; and when I die I am sure to go to hell." "I hope not," he said, smiling. "Oh, but I know!" she cried. "All I ever do is to make people miserable." "Perhaps it's the people's fault, for--for loving you, Florence," he said. "It's awfully exciting to see you again," she went on. "You came within an ace of being my husband. I might have belonged to you and counted your washing. It's queer, isn't it? Thrilling!" "Why do you bring all that up, Florence?" he said. "It's done. It's over. I--I would rather not speak of it." "But it was such an awfully near thing, Frank," she persisted. "I had made up my mind to take you, you know. I had even looked over my poor little clothes and had drawn a hundred dollars out of the savings bank!" |
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