"
"I didn't come for that, and you know it. I came for you. But you put
a shield between us to keep me off. When you have emptied your heart
of some of these grievances that are making it hot--against me, maybe
you won't have to put me at the same distance. Maybe you'll let me be
your friend again, if I can deserve it."
"I don't want to talk or think of ourselves at all!" she broke out.
"I don't ask you to. All that--and my mother's cloak, too--you needn't
be getting down that box!--can wait. If you won't be my friend, anyhow
show me how to help your friends."
"Oh, if you would do that!" Win cried.
"I will. Give me the chance."
Despite his injunction, she had taken from its neat oak shelf a box of
summer wraps and placed it on the counter behind which she stood. Now,
not knowing what she did, she lifted the cardboard cover and seemed to
peep in at the folds of chiffon and silk.
Peter looked not at the box, but at her pitiful, reddened hands on the
lid. The blood mounted slowly to his temples and he bit his lip. He,
too, was standing, though any one of several green velvet-covered
stools was at his service. He turned away, leaning so much weight on
the bamboo stick he held that it bent and rather surprised him.
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