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Glasgow, Ellen Anderson Gholson, 1873-1945

"The Miller Of Old Church"

Please, go slowly."
"--Marry me?"
"Abel, I don't believe you love me!" she said, and began to sob.
"Answer me and I'll show you."
"I didn't think you'd be so cruel--when---"
"When? Remember I've stopped playing, Molly."
"When you know I'm simply dying for you," she responded.
He smiled at her without moving. "Then answer my question, and there's
no drawing back this time remember."
"The question you asked me? Repeat it, please."
"I've said it three times already, and that's enough."
"Must I put it into words? Oh Abel, can't you see it?"
Lifting her chin, he laughed softly as he stooped and kissed her.
"I've seen it several times before, darling. Now I want it put into
words--just plain ones."
"Then, Mr. Abel Revercomb," she returned demurely, "I should like very
much to marry you, if you have no objection."
The next instant her mockery fled, and in one of those spells of
sadness, which seemed so alien to her, and yet so much a part of her,
she clung to him, sobbing.
"Abel, I love you so, be good to me," she entreated.
"Good to you!" he exclaimed, crushing her to him.
"Oh, those dreadful days since we quarrelled!"
"Why did you do it, darling, since you suffered as well as I?"
"I can't tell--there's something in me like that, I don't know what it
is--but we'll quarrel again after this, I suppose.


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