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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"


"Why--why--yes," Bibbs stammered. "I'll--I'll be de--Won't you get
in?"
In that manner and in that place they exchanged their first words.
Then Mary without more ado got into the coupe, and Bibbs followed,
closing the door.
"You're very kind," she said, somewhat breathlessly. "I should have
had to walk, and it's beginning to get dark. It's three miles, I
think."
"Yes," said Bibbs. "It--it is beginning to get dark. I--I noticed
that."
"I ought to tell you--I--" Mary began, confusedly. She bit her lip,
sat silent a moment, then spoke with composure. "It must seem odd,
my--"
"No, no!" Bibbs protested, earnestly. "Not in the--in the least."
"It does, though," said Mary. "I had not intended to come to the
cemetery, Mr. Sheridan, but one of the men in charge at the house
came and whispered to me that 'the family wished me to'--I think your
sister sent him. So I came. But when we reached here I--oh, I felt
that perhaps I--"
Bibbs nodded gravely. "Yes, yes," he murmured.
"I got out on the opposite side of the carriage," she continued.
"I mean opposite from--from where all of you were. And I wandered
off over in the other direction; and I didn't realize how little time
it takes.


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