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Stribling, T. S., 1881-1965

"Birthright A Novel"


"Surely, you're not too ill to be kissed?" he rallied faintly.
"You kissed me. I thought we had agreed, Peter, you were not to come in
the daytime any more."
"Oh, is that it?" Peter patted her shoulder, cheerfully. "Don't worry; I
have just removed any reason why I shouldn't come any time I want to."
Cissie looked at him, her dark eyes large in the gloom.
"What have you done?"
"Got a preacher to marry us; on my way now for a license. Dropped in to
ask if you 'll be ready by tomorrow or next day."
The girl gasped.
"But, Peter--"
Peter drew a chair beside her in a serious argumentative mood.
"Yes I think we ought to get married at once. No reason why we shouldn't
get it over with--Why, what's the matter?"
"So soon after your mother's death, Peter?"
"It's to get away from Hooker's Bend, Cissie--to get you away. I don't
like for you to stay here. It's all so--" he broke off, not caring to
open the disagreeable subject.
The girl sat staring down at some fagots smoldering on the hearth. At
that moment they broke into flame and illuminated her sad face.


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