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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

"
"You could have written that."
"Yes," she faltered, "but I had to tell you face to face."
"Is that all?"
Again the tears were in her eyes.
"No," she said tremulously.
"Then I'll say the rest for you. You wanted to come to tell me of
the shame you felt when you knew," she nodded violently--"but you
could have written that, too, and I could have written that you
mustn't feel that way--that" he spoke slowly--"you mustn't rob me
of the dearest happiness I ever knew in my whole life."
"I knew you would say that," she said like a submissive child. The
sternness left his face and he was smiling now.
"And you wanted to say that the only return you could make was to
come back and be my wife."
"Yes," she faltered again, "I did feel that--I did."
"You could have written that, too, but you thought you had to
PROVE it by coming back yourself."
This time she nodded no assent and her eyes were streaming. He
turned away--stretching out his arms to the woods.
"God! Not that--no--no!"
"Listen, Jack!" As suddenly his arms dropped. She had controlled
her tears but her lips were quivering.


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