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Reed, Myrtle, 1874-1911

"Old Rose and Silver"

"
"Suppose it was night, and I'd wanted you to come and play to me. Would
you have come?"
"Why, yes. Of course I would!"
"I didn't know," he stammered, "that there was so much kindness in the
world. I have been very lonely since--"
Her eyes filled and she held his hand more closely. "You won't be lonely
any more. I'll come whenever you want me, night or day, to play, to
read--or anything. Only speak, and I'll come."
"How good you are!" he murmured, gratefully. "No, please don't let go of
my hand." In some inexplicable fashion strength seemed to flow to him
from her.
"I think you'll be glad to know," she said, "how sympathetic everybody
has been. Strangers stop us on the street to ask for you, and people
telephone every day. Down in the library, there's a pile of letters that
would take days to read, and many of them have foreign stamps. It makes
one feel warm around the heart, for it brings the ideal of human
brotherhood so near."
He sighed and his face looked haggard. The brotherhood of man was among
the things that did not concern him now. The weariness of the ages was
in every line of his body.


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