THE REDEMPTION OF ANTHONY
"I don't doubt it—so do you. And yet I never saw you look so sweet!"
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Now you look like—you! Not the fashionable Mrs. Crompton, nor the clever Mrs. Crompton, but just Nan Crompton, the sweetest woman in the world."
"Don't! I feel very young and reckless at this moment."
"Good! Then put your hand in mine, dear woman, and say that you will make me happier than I ever dreamed of being."
"I can't—I simply cannot—marry a parson. I've too much sense of humor."
"I don't ask you to marry a parson—I ask you to marry me."
"Aren't you the same?"
"No, the parson is a type, and I am a man."
Just here a terrific crash of thunder shook the dog-house, and Mrs. Crompton's head was buried on The Parson's breast. Here it seems well to draw the curtain. Somewhat later Mrs. Martin and the rest of the
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