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Keyes, Frances Parkinson, 1885-1970

"The Old Gray Homestead"

I don't think I could have held on much longer--to my _reason_
even--if I hadn't had this respite. If I can accept all that from you,
can't you accept the clear title to a few acres from me? Austin--don't
stand there looking at me like that--tell me I haven't presumed too far."
"What made you think I was angry?" he said hoarsely. "Do men dare to be
angry with angels sent from Heaven?" He took the little slip of paper
which she still held in her extended hand. "I thought you had done
something like this--that was why you made me burn the papers myself--in
the name of my father--and of my children--God bless you." Without taking
his eyes off her face, he drew a tiny box from his pocket.
"Sylvia--would you take a present from _me_?"
"Why, yes. What--"
"It isn't really a present at all, of course, for it was bought with your
money, and perhaps you won't like it, for I've noticed you never wear any
jewelry. But I couldn't bear to come home without a single thing for
you--and this represents--what you've been to me.


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