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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

I cannot hear it, sir. It's killing me
by inches! Black Jack's hand may not have been hurt so bad. Any hour he
may be creeping up behind her! Any minute the awful revenge he swore
to be taking may in some way fall on her, and I haven't even warned her
father. I can't stay here doing nothing another hour. The five nights
gone I've watched under her windows, but there's the whole of the day.
She's her own horse and little cart, and's free to be driving through
the town and country as she pleases. If any evil comes to her through
Black Jack, it comes from her angel-like goodness to me. Somewhere he's
hiding! Somewhere he is waiting his chance! Somewhere he is reaching out
for her! I tell you I cannot, I dare not be bearing it longer!"
"Freckles, be quiet!" said McLean, his eyes humid and his voice
quivering with the pity of it all. "Believe me, I did not understand.
I know the Angel's father well. I will go to him at once. I have
transacted business with him for the past three years. I will make him
see! I am only beginning to realize your agony, and the real danger
there is for the Angel.


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