"Oh, you're welcome!" Julia answered, with a desperate effort to appear
calm.
"Will you kiss me, Julie?" Jim pursued, and a second later she was on
her knees beside him, their arms were locked together, and their lips
met as if they had never kissed each other before.
"You little angel," Jim said, "what a beast I am! As if life hadn't been
hard enough for you without my adding to it! Oh, but what a night I've
had! And you'll forgive me, won't you, sweetheart, for I _love_ you so?"
Julia put her face down and cried stormily, her wet face pressed against
his, his arms holding her close. After a while, when the sobs lessened,
they began to talk together, and then laugh together in the exquisite
relief of being reconciled. Then Jim went to sleep, and Julia sat beside
him, his hand in hers, her eyes idly following the play of broken bright
lights that quivered on the wall.
She leaned back in her big chair, feeling weary and spent, broken, but
utterly at peace. From that hour life was changed to her, and she dimly
felt the change, accepted it as stoically as an Indian might the loss of
a limb, and adjusted herself to all it implied.
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