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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 82, August, 1864"

For
the expression of his face, for involuntary glances, no man can be held
responsible.
I kept it to myself,--or tried to do so; for I wasn't sure--of anything.
Emily's words, "I fear," came to me with deep meaning. For, if the
goodness of David, if the fascinations of Warren Luce had effected
nothing, what could I hope?
And was I sure about this last, about Warren? He was in the place.
Emily's sickness only had kept him away. I reviewed myself to myself,
overhauled whatever virtues or failings I knew of as belonging to me.
Nothing very satisfactory resulted. But I remembered what the old man
said to Miss Joey, "Love'll go where 'tis sent," and took courage. Eight
or ten years older. I wonder if she would mind that?
Day after day passed, and my secret still burned within me. It must
shine out of my eyes, I thought. But then, since Emily's death, I had
seen Mary Ellen much less frequently. She kept mostly with her mother,
on their own side of the house.
But the time that was foreordained from the beginning of the world for
the bursting-forth of my secret came at last.


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