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Augusta, Clara, 1839-1905

"The Fatal Glove"

By-and-by she lifted up her face, and said, quietly:
"Did you mean for me to marry you, Roy?"
"Marry me? Yes, dearest, and that, too, before many days have elapsed!
I have been a fool so long that now I cannot afford to wait!"
"Yes; but if I promise myself to you, how can I be sure that, on the way
to the altar, you will not jump over the fence, and leave me to fate and
Will Richardson?"
"Confound Will Richardson! Florence, forgive me! I was little less than
a brute! Is there peace between us?"
"Both peace and love," she whispered, softly; and my heart was at rest.
My mother was overjoyed by the turn affairs had taken. Everything had
happened just as she had wished; and, to this day, the good lady idolizes
tomatoes, insisting upon it that it was through the agency of those
preserves that Florence and I came to an understanding. It might have
been--I cannot tell--great events sometimes originate in small causes.
Florence--dear little wife!--for five years she has sustained to me that
relation; and if she has not cured me of my bashfulness, she has at least
broken me of its extreme folly.
To other men afflicted as I was with constitutional shyness, I can
conscientiously recommend my course. Don't be afraid; the ladies admire
courage, and "None but the brave deserve the fair.


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