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The Damnation of Theron Ware by Harold Frederic
page 291 of 402 (72%)
must be many more amusing topics."

He missed the spirit of her remark. "You are right," he said slowly. "It
is too sad a thing to talk about. But there! it is my load, and I bear
it, and there's nothing more to be said."

Theron drew a heavy sigh, and let his fingers toy abstractedly with a
ribbon on the outer edge of Celia's penumbra of apparel.

"No," she said. "We mustn't snivel, and we mustn't sulk. When I get into
a rage it makes me ill, and I storm my way through it and tear things,
but it doesn't last long, and I come out of it feeling all the better.
I don't know that I've ever seen your wife. I suppose she hasn't got red
hair?"

"I think it's a kind of light brown," answered Theron, with an effect of
exerting his memory.

"It seems that you only take notice of hair in stained-glass windows,"
was Celia's comment.

"Oh-h!" he murmured reproachfully, "as if--as if--but I won't say what I
was going to."

"That's not fair!" she said. The little touch of whimsical mockery which
she gave to the serious declaration was delicious to him. "You have me
at such a disadvantage! Here am I rattling out whatever comes into my
head, exposing all my lightest emotions, and laying bare my very heart
in candor, and you meditate, you turn things over cautiously in your
mind, like a second Machiavelli. I grow afraid of you; you are so subtle
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