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Tarkington, Booth, 1869-1946

"The Turmoil, a novel"


Bibbs had forgotten himself long ago; his heart broke for her.
"Couldn't you--Isn't there--Won't you--" he stammered. "Mary,
I'm going with father. Isn't there some way you could use the
money without--without--"
She gave a choked little laugh.
"You gave me something to live for," he said. "You kept me alive,
I think--and I've hurt you like this!"
"Not you--oh no!"
"You could forgive me, Mary?"
"Oh, a thousand times!" Her right hand went out in a faltering
gesture, and just touched his own for an instant. "But there's
nothing to forgive."
"And you can't--you can't--"
"Can't what, Bibbs?"
"You couldn't--"
"Marry you?" she said for him.
"Yes."
"No, no, no!" She sprang up, facing him, and, without knowing what
she did, she set her hands upon his breast, pushing him back from her
a little. "I can't, I can't! Don't you SEE?"
"Mary--"
"No, no! And you must go now, Bibbs; I can't bear any more--
please--"
"MARY--"
"Never, never, never!" she cried, in a passion of tears. "You
mustn't come any more. I can't see you, dear! Never, never,
never!"
Somehow, in helpless, stumbling obedience to her beseeching gesture,
he got himself to the door and out of the house.


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