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Glasgow, Ellen Anderson Gholson, 1873-1945

"The Miller Of Old Church"

Why, your mouth was like a flower when I kissed you, and
parted and clung to me---"
"I wish you wouldn't talk about it. I hate to hear such things after
they are over."
"Such things!" He stood flicking hopelessly with a small branch he
carried at the carrot flowers in the field. "If you will tell me
honestly that you were playing with me, Molly, I'll give you up this
minute," he said.
The colour was high in her face and she did not look at him.
"I was playing with you, and I told you so the day afterwards," she
replied.
"Yes, but you didn't mean it. I can't go any further because this is Mr.
Jonathan's land."
His eyes had in them the hurt reproachful look of a wounded dog's, and
his voice trembled a little.
"I meant always--always to lead you on until I could hurt you--as I did
the others--and then throw you over."
"And now that you can hurt me, you throw me over?" he asked.
Without speaking, she held out her hand for the basket, which he was
about to fling from him.
"Then I'll never forgive you, Molly, so help me God," he added harshly;
and turning away from her, struck out across the pasture in the
direction of the mill.


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