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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"

" She laughed, a little tremuously. "Though I wanted you to!"
"I said it without thinking. It must be because you came there to
walk home with me. That must be it."
"Women like to have things said," Mary informed him, her tremulous
laughter continuing. "Were you glad I came for you?"
"No--not 'glad.' I felt as if I were being carried straight up and up
and up--over the clouds. I feel like that still. I think I'm that
way most of the time. I wonder what I was like before I knew you.
The person I was then seems to have been somebody else, not Bibbs
Sheridan at all. It seems long, long ago. I was gloomy and sickly
--somebody else--somebody I don't understand now, a coward afraid
of shadows--afraid of things that didn't exist--afraid of my old
zinc-eater! And now I'm only afraid of what might change anything."
She was silent a moment, and then, "You're happy, Bibbs?" she asked.
"Ah, don't you see?" he cried. "I want it to last for a thousand,
thousand years, just as it is! You've made me so rich, I'm a miser.
I wouldn't have one thing different--nothing, nothing!"
"Dear Bibbs!" she said, and laughed happily.

CHAPTER XXIII
Bibbs continued to live in the shelter of his dream.


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