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Osbourne, Lloyd, 1868-1947

"Love, the Fiddler"

I must
meet it with what fortitude I can. But I cannot bear to feel that
every time I come you will like me less; that others will crowd me
out and take my place; that the gulf will widen and widen until at
last it is impassable. I am going while you still love me a little
and will miss me. Good-bye!"
She leaned her head on his shoulder and sobbed. She had but to say
one word to keep him, and yet she would not say it. Her heart
seemed broken in her breast, and yet she let him go, sustained in
her resolve by the thought of her great fortune and of the
wonderful days to come.
"Good-bye," she said, and stood looking after him as he walked
slowly away.
"Oh, that money, I hate it!" she exclaimed to herself as she went
in. "I wish he had never left it to me. I didn't want it or expect
it or anything, and I should have been happy, oh, so happy!" Then,
with a pang, she recalled the refrigerating plant, and the life so
quiet and poor and simple and sweet that she and Frank would have
led had not her millions come between them.
"Her millions!"
It was inspiriting to repeat those two words to herself. It
strengthened her resolve and made her feel how wise she had been
to break with Frank. Perhaps, after all, it were better for him
not to come back. He was right about the gulf between them, and
even since his departure it was widening appreciably.
Then she realised what all rich people realise sooner or later.
"I don't own all that money," she said to herself.


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