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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Her Father's Daughter"

I am glad, deeply g]ad, that
there is not a drop of her blood in my veins, sorry as I am for
you and much as I regret what has happened. I won't ask you to
stay tonight, because you must go through the same black waters
Marian breasted, and you will want to be alone. Later, if you
think of any way I can serve you, I will be glad for old sake's
sake; but you must not expect me ever to love you or respect your
judgment as I did before the shadow fell."
Then Linda rose, replaced the letter, turned the key in the lock,
and quietly slipped out of the room.
When she opened her door and stepped into her room she paused in
astonishment. Spread out upon the bed lay a dress of georgette
with little touches of fur and broad ribbons of satin. In color
it was like the flame of seasoned beechwood. Across the foot of
the bed hung petticoat, camisole, and hose, and beside the dress
a pair of satin slippers exactly matching the hose, and they
seemed the right size. Linda tiptoed to the side of the bed and
delicately touched the dress, and then she saw a paper lying on
the waist front, and picking it up read:
Lambie, here's your birthday, from loving old Katy.
The lines were terse and to the point. Linda laid them down, and
picking up the dress she walked to the mirror, and holding it
under her chin glanced down the length of its reflection. What
she saw almost stunned her.
"Oh, good Lord!" she said. "I can't wear that.


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