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Webster, Henry Kitchell, 1875-1932

"The Real Adventure"

And there had been other walks since. Do you
remember the last time they had walked together? It was from the stage
door of the Globe theater to her little room on North Clark Street. Rose
remembered it and she felt sure that he did. The same singing wire of
memories and associations that had vibrated between them then was
vibrating between them now and drawing up palpably tighter with every
half-mile they walked. Their pace quickened a little.
Straight down Fifth Avenue they walked to the corner of Thirteenth
Street, and then west. And when they stopped and faced each other in the
entrance to the gray brick building where Rose's apartment was, it was
at the end of a mile or more of absolutely unbroken silence. And facing
each other there, all that was said between them was her:
"You'll come in, won't you?" and his, "Yes."
But the gravity with which she'd uttered the invitation and the
tenseness of his acceptance of it, the square look that passed between
them, marked an end of something and the beginning of something new.


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