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Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn, 1857-1948

"Sleeping Fires: a Novel"

"
"Let that pass. I am not going to argue with you. You've argued it
all out with yourself unless I'm much mistaken. Are you going to let
Masters kill himself when you can save him? Are you going to condemn
yourself to a miserably solitary, wandering, aimless life, in which
you are no good to yourself, your Church, or any one on earth--and
with a crime on your soul?"
I--I--haven't admitted to myself what I shall do. It has seemed to
me that when I am free I shall simply go--"
"And straight to Masters. As well for a needle to try to run away
from a magnet."
"Oh, I wonder! I wonder!" But she did not look distressed. Her face
was transfigured as if she saw a vision. But it fell in a moment,
that inner glowing lamp extinguished.
"He may no longer want me. He may have forgotten me. Or if he
remembers it must only be to remind himself that I have ruined his
life. He may hate me."
"That is likely! If he hated you he'd have pulled up long ago. He
knows he still has it in him to make a name for himself, whether he
owns a newspaper or not. If he's gone on making a fool of himself
it's because his longing for you is insupportable; he can forget you
in no other way."
"Can men really love like that?" The inner lamp glowed again.
"A few. Not many, perhaps.


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