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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

This man was simply a brute. And yet the
memory of his mad embrace and the blind violence of his kisses had
become each day more vivid and terrible--terrible because of their
fascination. She accepted the fact at last in a burst of bitter tears.
And then came the announcement in the _Daily Republican_ of his return
to the city and his attachment to the company of cavalry at McClellan's
headquarters. The thought of his presence sent the blood surging in
scarlet waves to her face. There was no longer any question in her mind
that she had wounded him too deeply for forgiveness. Her dismissal had
been so cold, so curt, it had been an accusation of dishonor. She could
see it clearly now. He had poured out his confession of utter love in a
torrent of mad words and clasped her in his arms without thought or
calculation, an act of instinctive resistless impulse. He had justly
resented the manner in which she had repulsed him. Yet she had simply
followed the impulse of her girlish heart, and she would die sooner than
apologize.
She accepted the situation at last with a dull sense of pain and
despair, and tried to find consolation in devotion to work in the
hospitals which had begun to grow around the army of drilling
volunteers.
Events were moving now with swift march, and her championship of the
President gave her days of excitement which brought unexpected relief
from her gloomy thoughts.


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