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Passeggiate nel Borgo Medievale di Termoli

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Julian Davis
Julian Davis

Him Bury Me Deep Inside Your Heart

To be perfectly frank, I will not. You ask me forplain English. I will give it to you. Your presencein this village as a missionary to the heathen is an insultto our intelligence and Christian manhood. You comeat this late day a missionary among the heathen, theheathen whose heart and brain created this Republic withcivil and religious liberty for its foundations, a missionaryamong the heathen who gave the world Washington,whose giant personality three times saved the cause ofAmerican Liberty from ruin when his army had meltedaway. You are a missionary among the children ofWashington, Jefferson, Monroe, Madison, Jackson, Clay andCalhoun! Madam, I have baptised into the fellowshipof the church of Christ in this county more negroes thanyou ever saw in all your life before you left Boston.

Him Bury Me Deep Inside Your Heart


She placed it in his hand and it burnt like a red hotcoal. He placed it in an inside pocket next to his heart.It felt like a huge millstone crushing him. A lump rosein his throat and choked him until he gasped forbreath.

When he buttoned his coat he felt something hardpress against his heart. It was the ring. He sat downon his bed and drew it from his pocket. To his surprisehe found coiled inside it and tied by a tiny ribbon a ringletof her hair. She had taken off the ring in her mother'spresence and promised her to register and mail it inAtlanta. She had bound this little piece of herself withit. He kissed it tenderly.

I made up my mind one night to telegraph you. Iheard some one talking inside Mama's room. I gentlyopened the door between our rooms, and she was prayingaloud for me. I stood spellbound. I never knewhow she loved me before. When at last she prayedthat in the end I might have the desire of my heart, andmy life be crowned with the joy of a noble man's love,and that it might be yours, and that she should be permittedto see and rejoice with me, I could endure it nolonger.

He was his devoted worshipper for another and morepowerful reason. In his daily intercourse with him inhis library during his campaigns he had frequently methis beautiful daughter, and had fallen deeply and madlyin love with her. This secret passion he had kept hiddenin his sensitive soul. He had worshipped her from afaras though she had been a white-robed angel. To see herand be in the same house with her was all he asked. Nowand then he had stood beside the piano and turned themusic while she played and sang one of his new pieces,and he would live on that scene for months, eating hisheart out with voiceless yearnings he dared not express.

A great fear awed her into silence. For the first timein all her struggle with her father the sense suddenlycame into her heart of her dependence on Gaston'slove for the very desire to live, and for the firsttime she realised the possibility of losing him. Whatif he should press his great ambitions to successful issuewhile she stood irresolute and tortured him with her indecision?If he could win the world's applause withouther, might he not, when successful, cease to need her?Her breast heaved with the tumult of uncertainty. Whatif another woman saw and loved him, and drew near tohim in his hours of soul loneliness and struggle, and hehad learned to see her face with joy! The convictioncame crushing upon her that she had not respondedbravely to this powerful man's singular devotion intowhich he had poured without reserve his deepest passion.Had he weighed her and found her wanting in some darkhour in her absence? Her heart was in her throat atthe thought! 041b061a72


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