The house was still; the shabby
old room was so quiet that the sound of a creaking in the wall seemed
sharp and loud.
And yet, when Mary spoke at last, her voice was barely audible.
"If you think it has been--happy--to be friends with me--you'd want
to--to make it last."
"Yes," said Bibbs, as faintly.
"You'd want to go on being my friend as long as we live, wouldn't
you?"
"Yes," he gulped.
"But you make that kind of speech to me because you think it's over."
He tried to evade her. "Oh, a day-laborer can't come in his
overalls--"
"No," she interrupted, with a sudden sharpness. "You said what you
did because you think the shop's going to kill you."
"No, no!"
"Yes, you do think that!" She rose to her feet again and came and
stood before him. "Or you think it's going to send you back to the
sanitarium. Don't deny it, Bibbs. There! See how easily I call you
that! You see I'm a friend, or I couldn't do it. Well, if you meant
what you said--and you did mean it, I know it!--you're not going to go
back to the sanitarium. The shop sha'n't hurt you. It sha'n't!"
And now Bibbs looked up. She stood before him, straight and tall,
splendid in generous strength, her eyes shining and wet.
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