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Bonner, Geraldine, 1870-1930

"The Emigrant Trail"

"
The darkness hid her face, but her voice told that she, too, had her
little load of guilt where David was concerned.
The man moved uneasily.
"That's foolishness. You only told the truth. If it was cruel, that's
not your affair."
"He loved me. A woman doesn't forget that."
"That's over and done with. He's probably here somewhere, come through
with a train that's scattered. And, anyway, you can't do any good by
thinking about him."
This time the false reassurances came with the pang that the dead man
was rousing in tardy retribution.
"I should like to know it," she said wistfully, "to feel sure. It's
the only thing that mars our happiness. If I knew he was safe and well
somewhere there'd be nothing in the world for me but perfect joy."
Her egotism of satisfied body and spirit jarred upon him. The passion
she had evoked had found no peace in its fulfillment. She had got what
he had hoped for. All that he had anticipated was destroyed by the
unexpected intrusion of a part of himself that had lain dead till she
had quickened it, and quickening it she had killed his joy.


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