I--I worshiped you,
do you hear? Why, I've prayed to you, dumbly, wordlessly, out of black
bitterness, when it seemed that any other divinity must be too busy to
give any heed to--to the ragged little tad I was. Now do you think I
haven't known what it was, long before this, to go on when there wasn't
any hope?"
He waited. Her breath came in a long and quivering gasp. And yet he
did not realize that she was crying.
"I--I don't think that I want to--listen any more," she faltered.
His face went white at that--and then he was smiling again.
"I told you I'd have chosen to tell you differently," the drawling
gentleness was unaltered, "but I'll have to finish this way now. There
may not be many chances for me to speak, for I've come back to you
almost too late. And I don't want to hurt you; why, I'm going to keep
the laughter in your eyes and heart as long as you live. For I thought
it would be a woman I'd find when I came back, and I've found you still
all girl--all save in those moments when you've seemed half boy to me.
And that is strange, too, isn't it--strange that I never knew how much
I wanted you to be like that, until you taught me the wonder of it
yourself? My--eyes are stinging. I don't talk quite plainly. My
throat is too tight for easy speech. For it's just the old wonder of
you, after all--just the same--reverence, isn't it? I'll never let you
grow up now.
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