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Phillips, David Graham, 1867-1911

"The Deluge"

A few years of silly false training
doesn't undo her work. If you and he had cared for each other, you wouldn't
be here, apologizing for his selfish vanity."
"No matter about him," she cried impatiently, lifting her head haughtily.
"The point is, I love him--and always shall. I warn you."
"And I take you at my own risk?"
Her look answered "Yes!"
"Well,"--and I took her hand--"then, we are engaged."
Her whole body grew tense, and her hand chilled as it lay in mine.
"Don't--please don't," I said gently. "I'm not so bad as all that. If you
will be as generous with me as I shall be with you, neither of us will ever
regret this."
There were tears on her cheeks as I slowly released her hand.
"I shall ask nothing of you that you are not ready freely to give," I said.
Impulsively she stood and put out her hand, and the eyes she lifted to mine
were shining and friendly. I caught her in my arms and kissed her--not once
but many times. And it was not until the chill of her ice-like face had
cooled me that I released her, drew back red and ashamed and stammering
apologies. But her impulse of friendliness had been killed; she once more,
as I saw only too plainly, felt for me that sense of repulsion, felt for
herself that sense of self-degradation.


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