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Dell, Ethel M. (Ethel May), 1881-1939

"The Odds And Other Stories"


With sheer, boyish gallantry, he had offered his protection; with sheer,
girlish recklessness, she had accepted it. And now--now she had in a few
hours crossed the boundary between childhood and womanhood and she stood
aghast, asking herself what she had done!
By what means understanding had come to her she did not stay to
question. The tragic force of it overwhelmed all reasoning. She knew
beyond all doubting that she had made the most ghastly mistake of her
life. She had done it in blindness, but the veil had been rent away; and,
horror-struck, she now beheld the accursed quicksand into which they had
blundered.
"I say," said Jerry, "you're awfully tired, aren't you? You're positively
haggard. I've got quite a decent little dinner for you, and I've done
every blessed thing myself. There isn't a soul in the house except us
two. I thought you'd like it best."
She smiled at him wanly, and thanked him. He was watching her with
friendly, anxious eyes.
"Yes; well, drink that up and have some more. I'm afraid you'll think the
accommodation rather poor. It's only a pillbox, you know. I'll show you
round when you're ready. I've got my kennel in the kitchen. Best place
for a watch-dog, eh? But you've only got to thump on the floor if you want
anything. There, that's better. You don't look quite so frozen as you
did. Come, it's rather a lark, isn't it?"
His boyish eyes pleaded with her, and again she made a valiant effort to
respond.


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