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Woodrow, Nancy Mann Waddel, 1870-1935

"The Black Pearl"

There's no place for me. Even--even if you were
kind--you sometimes seem to--to--to suggest that you would be--I'd be
just a useless cog, soon to be dropped. It's all complete without me.
But, for God's sake, I'm begging you, I'm begging you, Pearl, not to be
kind to me for the rest of the time that we're here together."
"And what about me?" she flashed. "You've thought everything out from
your own side, and you've just been telling it. Don't you think I've got
a side, too? I guess so."
He looked at her in surprise, the emotion that had changed and broken
his expression fading into wonderment and puzzle.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Kiss me, and I'll show you," she said audaciously. All the allurement,
the softness and sweetness of the south was in her mouth and eyes.
"How can we go on like this?" His voice was a mere broken whisper. He
yearned to her, leaned toward her, and yet refrained from holding her.
"Like _this_," she murmured, and threw her arms about him and laid her
head on his heart, her face upturned to his.
"I told you"--so close was she held that she scarcely knew that she was
breathing--"I told you--that if I once held you in my arms I'd never let
you go."
"You may have told yourself; you never told me before. But I'm content."
"Content! That's no word for this," he cried between kisses. The
mounting tide he had feared had become a mighty torrent sweeping away
all his carefully built up mental barriers, and with that obliterating
flood came a sense of power and freedom.


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