She slipped inside the door, and
shut it behind her, a most appealing figure in her black gown, with her
uncovered bright hair loosened and softly framing her April face.
"Jim," she said, her heart choking her, "will you take Anna and me with
you? I love you--"
There was time for no more. They were in each other's arms, laughing,
crying, murmuring now and then an incoherent word. Julia clung to her
husband like a storm-driven bird; it seemed to her that her heart would
burst in its ecstasy of content; if the big arms about her had crushed
breath from her body she would have died uncaring.
Jim kissed her wet cheeks, her tumbled hair, her red lips that so
willingly met his own. And when at last the tears were dry, and they
could speak and could look at each other, there was no need for words.
Jim sat on the couch, and Julia sat on his knee, with one arm laid
loosely about his neck in a fashion they had loved years ago, and what
they said depended chiefly upon their eyes and the tones of their voice.
"Oh, Jim--Jim!" Julia rested her cheek against his, "I have needed you
so!"
Jim tightened an arm about her.
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