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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"

Then he cried out
reproachfully: "Does she think that will make any difference in my--"
She held up her hand. "She knows it won't. That's what distresses her.
I am afraid, David, after all, you have brought your honor to a
wretched market. We are what we are, we Braddocks. We can't look
beyond our environment. You cannot marry a convict's daughter. It was
bad enough before. I should have seen all this. But I was blind only
to her happiness. We can't--"
His jaws were set. "Mrs. Braddock," he said, his voice quivering with
decision, "I am not going to be put off like this. You may as well
understand that, first and last. I love her. I want her. She loves me,
thank God. It won't be so hard to make her understand how impossible
it is for anything to come between us. She is going to marry me, Mary
Braddock."
A great light leaped into her eyes, even as she shook her head. The
words of protest she would have uttered failed to pass her lips. She
reached out as if to clasp his hand, a movement as involuntary as it
was instinctive. He had turned and was facing the closed portals
behind which his heart's desire was beating all joy and hope out of
her poor tormented soul.


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