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Oemler, Marie Conway, 1879-1932

"A Woman Named Smith"

And I do not take it lightly, for my
woman must be more to me than most women mean to most men. Well, it
is on the knees of the gods."
I stole a covert glance at him as he walked beside me. It seemed to
me he had never been so beautiful. But his beauty hurt me. I felt
old, very, very old, and sad, and tired. The salt taste of tears was
in my mouth. My feet dragged.
We entered that strip of land which on a time old Sophronisba
barb-wired and barricaded against her neighbors, and which touched
the Jelnik grounds in the rear. We were to cut through his garden
and enter mine by the gap in the hedge behind the spring-house
and I hoped to get into the house and up-stairs to my own room
unperceived.
The gray cottage lay dark and silent, but there were lights in Hynds
House although the night was upon the verge of morning. A gray
light, upon which was stealing a primrose tinge, was already in the
sky. It was, in fact, four o'clock. I was so mortally tired that for
a moment I sat down on his steps.
"It's been pretty rough on you, Sophy. One woman in a thousand
could have gone through this night's experience without going to
pieces," said Mr.


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