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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

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

" He waited for some reply,
but she was still toying with the handle of her parasol. Her mind
had not been on his proffered help,--she had not heard him, in
fact.
"And, Jack," she went on in the same heart-broken tone through
which an unbidden sob seemed to struggle.
"Yes, I am listening, Corinne,--what is it?"
"I want you to forgive me for the way I have always treated you. I
have--"
"Why, Corinne, what nonsense! Don't you bother your head about
such--"
"Yes, but I do, and it is because I have never done anything but
be ugly to you. When you lived with us I--"
"But we were children then, Corinne, and neither of us knew any
better. I won't hear one word of such. nonsense. Why, my dear
girl--" he had taken her hand as she spoke and the pair rested on
his knee--" do you think I am--No--you are too sensible a woman to
think anything of the kind. But that is not it, Corinne--something
worries you;" he asked suddenly with a quick glance at her face.
"What is it? You shall have the best in me, and Ruth will help
too.


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