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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"

.. She stopped. Her questioning gaze lingered on his face.
His smile puzzled her. Her eyes narrowed, then suddenly they were
distended; her lips parted in amazement, tremulously struggling into a
smile of wonder and unbelief. No one had spoken.
"It--it is David," she said, a quaver of breathlessness in the soft
tones.
He sprang forward, his hands extended.
"Yes," he cried, transported by the new aspect of loveliness.
She stood straight and slim before him, still unbelieving. Slowly her
hands were lifted to meet his, as if impelled by a power not her own.
He clasped them; they were cold. Something in their limp
unresponsiveness chilled him as if he had been touched by ice. He
gently released them and drew back, dismayed within himself.
"Why--why didn't you tell me, mamma?" she cried, the flutter in her
voice increasing. A swift wave of color rushed to her cheeks. She
suddenly held out her hands to him again, an eagerness in the action
that caught him unawares and lifted his spirits to dizzy heights. "Oh,
I am so glad--so glad to see you, David," she cried. Her firm little
hands were warm now, and trembling.


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