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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"

"
"You have no welcome, then, no particular words of welcome?"
"Mr. Benton, you know I am a country girl."
"Yes, but you remind me of a city belle in one way. You gather hearts
and throw them away as recklessly as they do, throwing smiles and using
your regal beauty as a fatal charm. I must feel, Miss Minot, that it
would have saved me pain had we never met."
This touched a tender spot. "Mr. Benton," I cried, "cease your foolish
talk, you know that I never tried to captivate you, that I take no
pleasure in an experience like this. You say that I am untrue to myself,
false to my highest perception of right and justice. If you claim for me
what you have said, you do not believe it, Wilmur Benton; you know in
your soul you speak falsely."
"Why, Emily," he said, "you are imputing to me what you are unwilling
to bear yourself; do you realize it?"
"I think I do," I replied, "and further proof is not needed to convince
me."
"Really, this is a strange state of affairs, but (in a conciliatory
tone), perhaps I spoke too impulsively, I cannot bear your anger;
forgive me, Emily."
"Well," I answered merely.
"Can you forget it all?" he said.
"I will see," I replied, and just then I saw Halbert coming over the
hill, and I was relieved from further annoyance. I cannot say just how
this affected me. I felt in one sense free, but still a sense of
heaviness oppressed me and all was not clear. My mental horizon was
clouded, and I could see no signs of the clouds drifting entirely away,
but on one point I was determined.


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