How should I?--I who love
you--I who have loved you for--for years and years!"
He had pulled my wet hands away from my face and was covering them
with kisses. My cheeks were like two coals, my whole face was
flaming and, I think, steaming. What could I do? I hid it on his
shoulder--there was no other place. And, oh, my dear friend, how
my leg tingled and thrilled, and how I wanted to kick!
We sat so for a long time. He had released one of my hands to pass
his arm about me again, and I possessed myself of my handkerchief
and was drying my eyes and my nose. I would not look up until that
was done; he tried in vain to push me a little away and gaze into
my eyes. Presently, when it was all right, and it had grown a bit
dark, I lifted my head, looked him straight in the eyes, and smiled
my best--my level best, dear.
"What do you mean," I said, "by 'years and years'?"
"Dearest," he replied, very gravely, very earnestly, "in the
absence of the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes, the lank hair, the
slouching gait, the rags, dirt, and youth, can you not--will you
not understand? Gunny, I'm Dumps!"
In a moment I was upon my feet and he upon his.
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