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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"Catriona"

They're
YOUR colours now; I wear them in my heart. My dear, I cannot be
wanting you. O, try to put up with me!"
I stepped before her so as to intercept her walking on.
"Try to put up with me," I was saying, "try and bear me with a
little."
Still she had never the word, and a fear began to rise in me like a
fear of death.
"Catriona," I cried, gazing on her hard, "is it a mistake again?
Am I quite lost?"
She raised her face to me, breathless.
"Do you want me, Davie, truly?" said she, and I scarce could hear
her say it.
"I do that," said I. "O, sure you know it--I do that."
"I have nothing left to give or to keep back," said she. "I was
all yours from the first day, if you would have had a gift of me!"
she said,
This was on the summit of a brae; the place was windy and
conspicuous, we were to be seen there even from the English ship;
but I kneeled down before her in the sand, and embraced her knees,
and burst into that storm of weeping that I thought it must have
broken me. All thought was wholly beaten from my mind by the
vehemency of my discomposure.


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