As he stood thinking, he found not a pretext, but a reality. He stooped
over, and put a hand lightly on each of her arms.
"Cissie," he said in a serious, even voice, "if I should ever marry any
one, it would be you."
The girl paused in her sobbing at his even, passionless voice.
"Then you--you won't?" she whispered in her arms.
"I can't, Cissie." Now that he was saying it, he uttered the words very
evenly and smoothly. "I can't, dear Cissie, because a great work has
just come into my life." He paused, expecting her to ask some question,
but she lay silent, with her face in her arms, evidently listening.
"Cissie, I think, in fact I know, I can demonstrate to all the South,
both white and black, the need of a better and more sincere
understanding between our two races."
Peter did not feel the absurdity of such a speech in such a place. He
patted her arm, but there was something in the warmth of her flesh that
disturbed his austerity and caused him to lift his hand to the more
impersonal axis of her shoulder. He proceeded to develop his idea.
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