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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"


You have her love. You didn't quite kill that, as you did mine." She
took his limp hand in hers and looked up into his eyes. "Perhaps, if
both of us try hard, you and I together, Tom, we may be able to make
her forget the ugliest part of her life."
"Together? I don't understand."
"I am still your wife," she said, a shrill note creeping into her
voice despite the effort she made to be calm.
"You--you mean I won't have to go--to go to the river?" he cried,
unable to think beyond that awful alternative.
"I never meant you to do that."
He suddenly took a long, deep breath and lifted his face, to stare
about as if trying to convince himself that he was really there, alive
and awake.
"I guess I don't quite get your meaning, Mary," he muttered, but his
fingers were beginning to tighten on hers. "Of course, I understand
you are still my wife, and--You don't mean you--you are going to take
me back!"
"No. I am asking you to take _me_ back."
He could not speak for a full minute or more.
"You'll give me another chance? That's what you mean--that's what
you're really saying, isn't it?" He was fairly gasping out the words.


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