.. to do the
unmaidenly thing I did in my dream ... and ... you ... must not misjudge
me, Oliver."
She stopped, smiled as only Margaret can, and bent her head until a loose
coil of amber hair fell on my face Then she brushed it aside and, after a
little gasping cry, kissed me on the lips.
EPILOGUE
THE LITTLE JACK
AT THE HANYARDS STAFFORDSHIRE _August 9th, 1757_
Margaret and I had a hot dispute this morning. True she went away,
singing happily, to rebuild the masses of yellow hair that had fallen all
over her shoulders and mine, for the dreadful stuff seems to tumble down
if I look at it, but still we had disputed, and vigorously, too. The plain
fact is she had sniffed at Aristotle.
The trouble arose out of this story of mine which I have been busy
writing for the last twenty months. It has been hard work, for I was new
to the business, and had to learn how to do it, but it has been a pleasant
task and a labour of love. Now we disputed about it. I said it was
finished. She said it wasn't. I said I ought to know. She replied not
necessarily, since I was such a great goose.
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