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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"Flower of the North"

And yet it is as impossible for
me to accept it as it would be for me to give up Fort o' God, my
father, or my life, though I cannot tell you why. And this, I
know, you will not ask. After what has happened to-night it will
be impossible for me to see you again, and I must ask you, as one
who values your friendship among the highest things in my life, to
leave Fort o' God. No one must know what has passed between us.
You will go--in the morning. And with you there will always be my
prayers.
JEANNE.
The paper dropped from between Philip's fingers and fell to the
floor. Three or four times in his life Philip had received blows
that had made him sick--physical blows. He felt now as though one
of these blows had descended upon him, turning things black before
his eyes. He staggered to the big chair and dropped into it,
staring at the bit of white paper on the floor. If one had spoken
to him he would not have heard. Gregson, in these moments, might
have laughed a little nervously, smoked innumerable cigarettes,
and laid plans for a continuance of the battle to-morrow. But
Philip was a fighter of men, and not of women. He had declared his
love, he had laid open his soul to Jeanne, and to a heart like his
own, simple in its language, boundless in its sincerity, this was
all that could be done.


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