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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"Burned Bridges"

I saw Tommy, but he wouldn't talk."
"I daresay I'm not a pretty object to look at," Thompson admitted. "But
I'm really not much the worse."
"No. I can see that," she said. "Tommy is very quick and very strong--I
was a little afraid."
The contrition, the hint of pity in her voice stirred up the queer
personal pride he had lately acquired.
"I don't suppose Ashe has any monopoly of strength and quickness," he
remarked. "That--but there, I don't want to talk about that."
He came over close beside her and looked down with all his troubled
heart in his clear blue eyes--so that the girl turned her gaze away and
her fingers wove nervously together.
"My dear," the unaccustomed phrase broke abruptly, with a fierce
tenderness, from his lips. "I love you--which I think you know without
my saying so. I want you. Will you marry me? I--"
Sophie warded off the impetuous outstretching of his arms and sprang to
her feet, facing him with all the delicate color gone out of her cheeks,
a sudden heave to her breast. She shook her head. "No," she said. "I
won't penalize myself to that extent--nor you. I won't bind myself by
any such promise. I won't even admit that I might."
He caught her by the shoulders and shook her roughly.


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