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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"


You were made for me, created for me! I will love you till I die! Oh, Em,
do not be so cold, so cruel to me!"
He held her arm so tightly that her fingers relaxed their hold, and the
cloak fluttered down on to the ground, and the wind played more roughly
than ever with the little yellow head.
"I do love you very much," she said; "but I do not know if I want to marry
you. I love you better than Waldo, but I can't tell if I love you better
than Lyndall. If you would let me wait for a week I think perhaps I could
tell you."
Gregory picked up the cloak and wrapped it round her.
"If you could but love me as I love you," he said; "but no woman can love
as a man can. I will wait till Saturday. I will not once come near you
till then. Good-bye! Oh, Em," he said, turning again, and twining his arm
about her, and kissing her surprised little mouth, "if you are not my wife
I cannot live. I have never loved another woman, and I never shall!--
never, never!"
"You make me afraid," said Em. "Come, let us go, and I will fill your
pail."
"I want no milk. Good-bye! You will not see me again till Saturday."
Late that night, when every one else had gone to bed, the yellow-haired
little woman stood alone in the kitchen. She had come to fill the kettle
for the next morning's coffee, and now stood before the fire.


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