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Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"

You see, Jeff, Ronny was part of you. You said so. And
oh, He's wiser than you an' me. And He figures this thing is best so.
It's a little Cross, such a teeny one, He's set you to bear, and if
you're the man I know and believe in, why, you'll just carry it without
a squeal. Then later you'll understand, and--you'll be real glad for
it. Will you--will you go back to her--to-morrow, Jeff?"
Nan waited almost breathlessly. She was watching him with a gaze that
searched every detail of his face. She saw the strong veins at his
temples standing out, the usually clear eyes stained and bloodshot.
She saw him raise one hand wearily to his forehead, and pass it back
over his hair. She knew the movement so well. The sight of it
thrilled her. There was little about him she did not know and
understand.
"You've made it seem I'll have to, Nan," he said with desperate
reluctance.
For a moment a strange feeling of weakness came over the girl. But she
resolutely thrust it aside.
"It's not me, Jeff," she disclaimed.


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