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Sparks, William Henry, 1800-1882

"The Memories of Fifty Years Containing Brief Biographical Notices of Distinguished Americans, and Anecdotes of Remarkable Men; Interspersed with Scenes and Incidents Occurring during a Long Life of Observation Chiefly Spent i"

I am almost a Natchez, for I worship the sun. How I am running
on! You are gentle and kind, are you not? You are quick,
perceptive--you have seen that I am not happy--sympathize, but do not
pity me. That is a terrible struggle between prudence and inclination.
There, now I am done--don't you think me very foolish?"
"Miss Alice--(will you allow me this familiarity?)"
"Yes, when we are alone; not before cousin or my _man_ brother." (She
almost choked with the word.) "Not before strangers--we are not
strangers when alone. You read my nature, as I do yours, and we are
not strangers when alone. It is not long acquaintance which makes
familiar friends. The mesmeric spark will do more than years of
intercommunication, where there is no congeniality--and do it in a
little precious moment. The bloody arrow we held in common was an
electric chain. I learned you at the plucking of that arrow from the
cotton bale--in your strange, wild garb; but never mind--what were you
going to say?"
"I was going to say that our acquaintance was very brief, but what I
have seen or heard, I will not tell to you or to any one.


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