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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

Then both came
to a stop simultaneously, but Bibbs made a heroic effort, and as they
began to walk on together he contrived to find his voice.
"I--I--hate a frozen fish myself," he said. "I think three miles was
too long for you to put up with one."
"Good gracious!" she cried, turning to him a glowing face from which
restraint and embarrassment had suddenly fled. "Mr. Sheridan, you're
lovely to put it that way. But it's always the girl's place to say
it's turning cooler! I ought to have been the one to show that we
didn't know each other well enough not to say SOMETHING! It was an
imposition for me to have made you bring me home, and after I went
into the house I decided I should have walked. Besides, it wasn't
three miles to the car-line. I never thought of it!"
"No," said Bibbs, earnestly. "I didn't, either. I might have said
something if I'd thought of anything. I'm talking now, though;
I must remember that, and not worry about it later. I think I'm
talking, though it doesn't sound intelligent even to me. I made up
my mind that if I ever met you again I'd turn on my voice and keep it
going, no mater what it said. I--"
She interrupted him with laughter, and Mary Vertrees's laugh was one
which Bibbs's father had declared, after the house-warming, "a cripple
would crawl five miles to hear.


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