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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Beth Norvell A Romance of the West"

"
She went instantly white as a sheet, her body trembling like an aspen,
her quivering lips faltering forth words she could not wholly restrain.
"The story, you say--the story! Do--do you believe that of me?"
"Oh, that does n't make any difference," the brute in him frankly
enjoying her evident pain. "Lord, what do you care about my belief?
That was all passed and over with long ago. All I know is, the fellow
is gone on you, all right. Why, he pulled a gun on me last night
merely because I chanced to mention your name in his presence."
The telltale color swept back into her cheeks in swift wave. For an
instant her eyes wavered, then came back to the man's sneering face.
"Did--did you dare tell him?"
He laughed lightly, softly patting his hand on the railing, his own
eyes partially veiled by lowered lids.
"Torn off the mask of unimpeachable virtue, have I?" he chuckled, well
pleased. "Rather prefer not to have our late affair blowed to this
particular young man, hey? Well, I suspected as much; and really,
Lizzie, you ought to know I am not that sort of a cur.


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