"
"Well, I won't. I just wanted you to know me as I am.
That time you told me of your darling hope for the
spring was the worst of all, Anne. I shall never
forgive myself for the way I behaved then. I repented
it with tears. And I DID put many a tender and loving
thought of you into the little dress I made. But I
might have known that anything I made could only be a
shroud in the end."
"Now, Leslie, that IS bitter and morbid--put such
thoughts away.
I was so glad when you brought the little dress; and
since I had to lose little Joyce I like to think that
the dress she wore was the one you made for her when
you let yourself love me."
"Anne, do you know, I believe I shall always love you
after this. I don't think I'll ever feel that dreadful
way about you again. Talking it all out seems to have
done away with it, somehow. It's very strange --and I
thought it so real and bitter. It's like opening the
door of a dark room to show some hideous creature
you've believed to be there--and when the light streams
in your monster turns out to have been just a shadow,
vanishing when the light comes.
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