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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The One Woman"

"There, there, I'll blot them out with kisses--one for
every harsh word, and one more for love's own sake. But you must
promise me, Frank, never to leave me like that again." A sob caught
her voice, and her head drooped.
"You may curse me, strike me, do anything but that. Oh, the loneliness,
the agony and horror of those hours when I realised you were gone
in anger and might not come back to-night--dear, it was too cruel.
Such wild thoughts swept my heart! You do forgive me?"
He stooped and kissed her.
"Why ask it, Ruth?"
"I know I am selfish and fretful and wilful," she said, with a sigh.
"I was only a spoiled child of nineteen when you took me by storm,
body and soul. You remember, on our wedding day, when I looked up
into your handsome face and the sense of responsibility and joy
crushed me for a moment, I cried and begged you, who were so brave
and strong, to teach me if I should fail in the least thing? And
you promised, dear, so sweetly and tenderly. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember," he slowly answered.
"And now, somehow, you seem to have drawn away from me as though
the task had wearied you. Come back closer! When I am foolish you
must be wise.


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