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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants me
to accompany them. But I can't, unfortunately. I promised dad to help
with the accounts."
"If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen on
deaf ears."
Siddle's voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt that
any display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle's innuendoes and
protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledge
that a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whom
she loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She swept
round on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
"I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
ceases," she said proudly. "Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father's
friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dear
little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies
gathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare.


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