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Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic), 1867-1940

"Michael"

And I think
they are both delightful. Especially the girl; but then she starts with
the tremendous advantage of being--of being a girl. I believe you are in
love with her, Mike, just as I am. It's that which makes you so grumpy.
But then you never do fall in love. It's a pity; you miss a lot of jolly
trouble."
Michael felt a sudden overwhelming desire to make Francis stop this
maddening twaddle; also the events of the morning were beginning to take
on an air of reality, and as this grew he felt the need of sympathy of
some kind. Francis might not be able to give him anything that was
of any use, but it would do no harm to see if his cousin's buoyant
unconscious philosophy, which made life so exciting and pleasant a thing
to him, would in any way help. Besides, he must stop this light banter,
which was like drawing plaster off a sore and unhealed wound.
"You're quite right," he said. "I am in love with her. Furthermore, I
asked her to marry me this morning."
This certainly had an effect.
"Good Lord!" said Francis. "And do you mean to say she refused you?"
"She didn't accept me," said Michael. "We--we adjourned."
"But why on earth didn't she take you?" asked Francis.
All Michael's old sensitiveness, his self-consciousness of his
plainness, his awkwardness, his big hands, his short legs, came back to
him.


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