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Updated: May 2, 2025
Need I explain that I had no serious intention of taking the fatal step? But it was not deliberate mendasity. It was Despair. Mother actually went white. She cluched me by the arm and shook me. "What are you saying?" she demanded. "I think you heard me, mother" I said, very politely. I was however thinking hard. "Marry whom? Barbara, answer me." "I don't know. Anybody."
If he had taken his hand in its white glove and washed his face with it, I would hardly have been surprized. The music stopped, and somebody claimed me for the next. Jane came up, too, and cluched my arm. "You lucky thing!" she said. "He's perfectly handsome. And oh, Bab, he's wild about you. I can see it in his eyes." "Don't pinch, Jane," I said coldly. "And don't rave. He's an idiot."
For Reginald Beecher is no longer my ideal, my Night of the pen. I will tell about that in a few words. Jane Raleigh and I went to a matinee late in September before returning to our institutions of learning. Jane cluched my arm as we looked at our programs and pointed to something. How my heart beat! For whatever had come between us, I was still loyal to him. This was a new play by him!
She gazed at me strangely when she saw my face, and then cluched me by the arm. "Bab!" she cried. "What on the earth is the matter with your complexion?" But I was desparate. "Let me go!" I said. "Only lend me two dollars for a taxi and let me go. Somthing horible has happened." She gave me ninety cents, which was all she had, and I rushed down the street, followed by her peircing gaze.
You're not decked out this way for ME." I had meant to tell her nothing, but spying just then a man ahead who walked like Adrian, I was startled. I cluched her arm and closed my eyes. "Bab!" she said. The man turned, and I saw it was not he. I breathed again. But Jane was watching me, and I spoke out of an overflowing Heart. "Barbara!" she said, and stopped dead. "Is it any one I know?"
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