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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Michael O'Halloran"

I can't put him from my thoughts as I saw him last."
"And I can't her," said Leslie. "She was a lovely picture as she came
across the silver moss carpet, you know that gray green, Douglas, her face
flushed, her eyes wet, her arms full of those perfectly beautiful,
lavender-pink fringed orchids. She's a handsome woman, dearest, and she
never looked quite so well to me as when she came picking her way beneath
the dark tamarack boughs. She was going to ask him to go with her to take
her flowers to Elizabeth, and over that little white casket she intended--
Why Douglas, he couldn't, he simply couldn't!"
"Suppose he had something previously worked out that cut her off!"
"Oh Douglas! What makes you think such a thing?"
"What Minturn said to me this morning with such bitterness on his face and
in his voice as I never before encountered in man," Douglas answered.
"He said----?" prompted Leslie.
"This is my _last_ day as a _laughing-stock_ for my fellowmen! To-morrow I
shall hold up my head!"
"Why didn't you tell me that _before?_"
"Didn't realize until just now that you and she hadn't _seen_ him--that
you were acting on presumption.


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