"Esme, dearest," I implored, "do you think you could put up with
me? Could you marry me when I've done my part over here--or even
sooner--right away? A dozen better men may love you, but mine is a
special brand of love--unique, incomparable! Are you going to have
me--or shall I jump into the lake?"
The sunset light was in her hair and in the gray, starry eyes she turned
to me--those eyes that, because their lashes were so long and crinkled
so maddeningly, were only half revealed. Her lips curved in a fleeting
smile.
"Oh, you dear, blind, silly man! Do you think any girl could help loving
you--after all that has happened to you and me?" she whispered.
Then I caught her to me; and despite my crutches and my bandaged head
and that atrocious horn in the distance honking the signal for our
parting, I was the happiest being in France--or in the world.
"I knew all along it was a dream, and it is! Such things don't really
happen. No such luck!" I cried.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Firefly Of France, by Marion Polk Angellotti
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE ***
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