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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

It even went to his brain.
"Did you insist on fixing that drink because you knew how intoxicating
'twould be?" he asked.
There was subtlety in the compliment and it delighted the Angel. She
laughed gleefully.
"Next time, maybe you won't take so much coaxing," she teased.
"I wouldn't this, if I had known your father and been understanding you
better. Do you really think the Bird Woman will be coming again?"
The Angel jeered. "Wild horses couldn't drag her away," she cried. "She
will have hard work to wait the week out. I shouldn't be in the least
surprised to see her start any hour."
Freckles could not endure the suspense; it had to come.
"And you?" he questioned, but he dared not lift his eyes.
"Wild horses me, too," she laughed, "couldn't keep me away either! I
dearly love to come, and the next time I am going to bring my banjo,
and I'll play, and you sing for me some of the songs I like best; won't
you?"
"Yis," said Freckles, because it was all he was capable of saying just
then.
"It's beginning to act stormy," she said.


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