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Rh )nfusion increased. He thought of writing her tiother letter, but pride and common sense forade. Then her letter came, and all of his props ere kicked suddenly from under him.

Oh my dear, my dear [she wrote], I swore that I ould n’t answer your letter—and here I am doing it. ’ve fought and fought and fought until I can’t fight any mger; I’ve held out as long as I can. Oh, Hugh my rarest, I love you. I can’t help it—I do, I do. I Ve ied so hard not to—and when I found that I couldn’t dp it I swore that I would never let you know—because knew that you did n’t love me and that I am bad for might have succeeded if you had n’t written to me. Oh, Hugh dearest, I nearly fainted when I saw your tter. I hardly dared open it—I just looked and looked
 * >u. I thought I loved you enough to give you up—and
 * your beloved handwriting. I cried when I did read it.

thought of the letters you used to write to me—and this le was so different—so cold and impersonal. It hurt me readfully.

I said that I would n’t answer it—I swore that I ould n’t. And then I read your old letters—I’ve kept rery one of them—and looked at your picture—and to»ght you just seemed to be here—I could see your sweet nile and feel your dear arms around me—and Hugh, my arling, I had to write—I had to. My pride is all gone. I can’t think any more. Ll that matters. You are Oh, Hugh dearest, I love you so damned ard.

Cynthia.