Quicksand
And thinking that you were a gentleman, introduced to me by my aunt, I chose to think myself mistaken, to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Very commendable, my Helga—and wise. Now you have your reward. Now I offer you marriage.”
“Thanks,” she answered, “thanks, awfully.”
“Yes,” and he reached for her slim cream hand, now lying quiet on Thor‘s broad orange and black back. Helga let it lie in his large pink one, noting their contrast. “Yes, because I, poor artist that I am, cannot hold out against the deliberate lure of you. You disturb me. The longing for you does harm to my work. You creep into my brain and madden me,” and he kissed the small ivory hand. Quite decorously, Helga thought, for one so maddened that he was driven, against his inclination, to offer her marriage. But immediately, in extenuation, her mind leapt to the admirable
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