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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"North of Fifty-Three"

Pshaw, though! I
didn't set out to deliver a lecture on evolution. But, believe me,
little person, if I thought that any great good or happiness would
result from my being elsewhere, from scrapping with my fellows in the
world crush, I'd be there with both feet. Do you think you'd be more
apt to care for me if I were to get out and try to set the world afire
with great deeds?"
"That wasn't the question," she returned distantly, trying, as she
always did, to keep him off the personal note.
"But it is the question with me," he declared. "I don't know why I let
you go on flouting me." He reached over and caught her arm with a grip
that made her wince. The sudden leap of passion into his eyes
quickened the beat of her heart. "I could break you in two with my
hands without half trying--tame you as the cave men tamed their women,
by main strength. But I don't--by reason of the same peculiar feeling
that would keep me from kicking a man when he was down, I suppose.
Little person, why can't you like me better?"
"Because you tricked me," she retorted hotly. "Because I trusted you,
and you used that trust to lead me farther astray. Any woman would
hate a man for that.


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