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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

Men are
not to be thanked for these things; they are to be despised if
they don't do them. Can't you see the difference?"
"But you might have been killed, too!" she exclaimed. Her own
voice was rising, irritation and disappointment swaying it.
"Everybody says it was a miracle you were not."
"Not a miracle at all. All I was afraid of was stumbling over
something in the dark--and it was nearly dark--only a few of the
rock lights burning--and not be able to get on my feet again. But
don't let us talk about it any more."
"Yes--but I will, I MUST. I must feel right about it all, and I
cannot unless you listen. I shall never forget you for it as long
as I live." There was a note of pathos in her voice. Why did he
make it so hard for her, she thought. Why would he not look in her
face and see? Why would he not let her thank him? "Nothing in the
world is so precious to me as daddy, and never will be," she went
on resolutely, driving back the feeling of injustice that surged
up in her heart at his attitude--"and it is you, Mr.


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