ld that it wa●s not a name to pass decent lips.” Some●thing terrible leaped in thos●e burned-out eyes, and died. “■I had not thought they would use their hate to■ la

sh a child,” he said. “They were quite r■ight



ed breathlessly. ●Stephen Fane dropped his arm, and Da■phne

drew back a little at the sudden blaze o●f wonder in his face. “Oh,” he whispered ■voicelessly. “Oh, you Loveliness!”■ He took a step toward her, and then stood s●till, clinching his brown hands. ■Then164 he

thrust them deep in his poc●kets, standing very straight. “I d■o

think,” he said carefully, “I do think you h●ad better go. The fact that I have tr■ied to make you stay simply pro●ves the particular type of rotter t■hat I am. Go

od-bye—I’ll never forge■t that you came back.” “I am not going,”■ said Daphne sternly. “Not if you beg me. ■Because you need me. And no matter how ■m

  • any wicked things you have done, there ca●n’t be anythin

    g as wicked as going away when s■omeone needs you. How do we get the cu●shions?” “Oh, my wise Dryad!” His voi■ce broke

  • on laughter, but Daphne saw that h■is lashes were suddenl

    y bright wit■h tears. “Stay, then—why, even I cannot h●arm you. God himself can’t grudge me this lit●tle space of wonder


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