"Jim--I can't bear Maggie. I'm afraid of her."
"Afraid o' pore Maaggie?"
He took it in. He wondered. He thought he understood.
"Maaggie sall goa. I'll 'ave anoother. An' yo sall 'ave a yooung laass
t' waait on yo. Ef it's Maaggie, shea sall nat stand in yore road."
"It isn't Maggie--altogether."
"Than--for Gawd's saake, loove, what is it?"
She sobbed. "It's everything. It's something in this house--in this
room."
He looked at her gravely now.
"Naw," he said slowly, "'tis noon o' thawse things. It's mae. It's mae
yo're afraid of. Yo think I med bae too roough with yo."
But at that she cried out with a little tender cry and pressed close
to him.
"No--no--no--it isn't you. It isn't. It couldn't be."
He crushed her in his arms. His mouth clung to her face and passed
over it and covered it with kisses.
"Am I too roough? Tall mae--tall mae."
"No," she whispered.
He pushed back her hat from her forehead, kissing her hair. She took
off her hat and flung it on the floor.
His voice came fast and thick.
"Kiss mae back ef yo loove mae."
She kissed him. She stiffened and leaned back in the crook of his arm
that held her.
His senses swam. He grasped her as if he would have lifted her bodily
from the floor. She was light in his arms as a child. He had turned
her from the window.
He looked fiercely round the room that shut them in. His eyes lowered;
they fixed themselves on the bed with its white counterpane.
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