"I
don't think he has stopped talking once since we have been engaged."
"He _is_ chatty," I agreed. "Has he told you the story about the
Irishman?"
"Half a dozen times. And the one about the Swede oftener than that. But
I would not mind an occasional anecdote. Women have to learn to bear
anecdotes from the men they love. It is the curse of Eve. It is his
incessant easy flow of chatter on all topics that is undermining even
my devotion."
"But surely, when he proposed to you, he must have given you an inkling
of the truth. He only hinted at it when he spoke to me, but I gather
that he was eloquent."
"When he proposed," said Celia dreamily, "he was wonderful. He spoke
for twenty minutes without stopping. He said I was the essence of his
every hope, the tree on which the fruit of his life grew; his Present,
his Future, his Past ... oh, and all that sort of thing. If he would
only confine his conversation now to remarks of a similar nature, I
could listen to him all day long. But he doesn't. He talks politics and
statistics and philosophy and .
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