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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales"

He was so intensely modest he had
never even reported the incident in question; it had come out in some
roundabout way. Yet he could not but feel happy that she had found him
out. It was a great deal to him to have moved her, and her sparkling
eyes and heaving bosom showed that she was somewhat moved.
He looked up and his eyes caught hers; the room was nearly dark now, but
the bright flame from the wood the servant had put on the fire played
upon her face. His eyes caught hers, and there was a look in them from
which he could not escape, even if he had wished to do so. She had
thrown her head back so that the coronet of her glossy hair rested upon
the back of her low seat, and thus, without strain, could look straight
up into his face. He had risen, and was standing by the mantelpiece. A
slow, sweet smile grew upon the perfect face, and the dark eyes became
soft and luminous as though they shone through tears.
In another second it had ended, as she thought that it would end and had
intended that it should end. The great strong man was down--yes, down
on his knees before her, one trembling hand catching at the arm of
her chair, and the other clasping her tapering fingers. There was no
hesitation or awkwardness about him now, the greatness of his long-pent
passion inspired him, and he told her all without let or stop--all that
he had suffered for her sake throughout those lonely years, all his
wretched hopelessness, keeping nothing back.


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