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Johnson, Owen, 1878-1952

"Murder in Any Degree"


"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do
not possess," he began evasively.
"Well?"
"Only it's the past--the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you
so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone.
That is the genius of women like you--to reach out and attach to
themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on."
"Ah, I understand," she said slowly.
"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly.
"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman."
"Ah, there is no difference--not to a man who loves," he said
impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it.
I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll
have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you
will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in
your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you
will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service--"
"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him.


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