You told me about her. She is beautiful, and she is wise.
She has not wasted the long days. She can help you with knowledge. She
can--"
He put out his arms and tried to take her, cursing himself for his
thoughtless cruelty. Infinite pity and something else--fervent, hungry
desire to clasp her overmastered all the prudence of the past. But she
eluded him. She sprang away. She retreated to the upper step of the
church porch, and he paused, gazing up at her.
"Oh, Blessed Virgin, put your fingers on my lips!" she gasped. "Why did
I say it?"
"Listen to me, Clare," he urged, holding his arms to her. "I know now
that I've been waiting for you. I thought it was friendship, but now
I--"
She cried out so loudly, so bitterly, that he stopped.
"If you say it--if you say it now, Harlan, it will shame me so that I
can never lift my eyes to yours again. I realize what I have said. It is
I that have put the thoughts into your mind--almost the words in your
mouth. Don't speak to me now. Oh, you can see how little I know--what a
fool I am, forward, shameless, ignorant about all that a girl should
know! Do not come near me--not now!" He had started to come up the
steps--he was crying out to her.
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