. . . Poor Alo! To think that after all
these years, you can strike me!
There is something malicious in the way Mercy Falchion crosses my
path. What she knows, she knows; and what she can do if she
chooses, I must endure. I cannot love Mercy Falchion again, and
that, I suppose, is the last thing she would wish now. I cannot
bring Alo back. But how does that concern her! Why does she hate
me so? For, underneath her kindest words,--and they are kind
sometimes,--I can detect the note of enmity, of calculating scorn.
. . . I wish I could go to Ruth and tell her all, and ask her to
decide if she can take a man with such a past. . . . What a
thing it is to have had a clean record of unflinching manliness at
one's back!
I add another extract:
Phil's story of Danger Mountain struck like ice at my heart. There
was a horrible irony in the thing: that it should be told to me, of
all the world, and at such a time. Some would say, I suppose, that
it was the arrangement of Providence. Not to speak it profanely, it
seems to be the achievement of the devil.
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