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A Fool for Love by Francis Lynde
page 19 of 131 (14%)
"Sketching in the mountains in midwinter! that would be decidedly
original, to say the least of it. And I think I have never done an
original thing in all my life."

For a single instant the brown eyes looked their pity for him; generic
pity it was, of the kind that mounting souls bestow upon the stagnant.
But the subconscious lover in Winton made it personal to him, and it
was the lover who spoke when he went on.

"That is a damaging admission, is it not? I am sorry to have to make
it--to have to confirm your poor opinion of me."

"Did I say anything like that?" she protested.

"Not in words; but your eyes said it, and I know you have been
thinking it all along. Don't ask me how I know it: I couldn't explain
it if I should try. But you have been pitying me, in a way--you know
you have."

The brown eyes were downcast. Frank and free-hearted after her kind as
she was, Virginia Carteret was finding it a new and singular
experience to have a man tell her baldly at their first meeting that
he had read her inmost thought of him. Yet she would not flinch or go
back.

"There is so much to be done in the world, and so few to do the work,"
she pleaded in extenuation.

"And Adams has told you that I am not one of the few? It is true
enough to hurt."
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