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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"

" She was suddenly
distressed.
"How do you know that I'm not guilty?" he cried bitterly. "You have
only my word for it. Of course, I'd deny it. Anybody would, even if he
was as guilty as sin. I--I might have done it, for all you know."
"Oh, don't--don't talk like that, David!"
"Nearly every one with the show thinks I did it. It doesn't matter to
them, either. They like me just as well. It's--it's as if I were a
friendless, homeless dog. They're tender-hearted. They'd do as much
for the dog, every time. I like them for it. I'll not forget
everybody's kindness to me and--and their indifference."
"Indifference, David?"
"Yes. That's the word. It doesn't make any difference what I am, they
just say it's all right and--and--that's all."
She caught the intensely bitter note in his voice. Christine was
young, but she had fine perceptions. Her lip trembled.
"_Nobody_ thinks you did it," she cried in a vehement undertone. "Even
father--" She stopped abruptly, a quick catch of compunction in her
breath.
"If he thinks I'm innocent, why is he so set on keeping me from
talking to you or your mother?" he demanded quickly, a sudden fire
entering his brain.


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