"Hester," he said, "you're like a vision come to earth."
"I'm a bad durl," she said, challenging his eyes for what he knew.
"You're a little saint walked down and leaving an empty pedestal in my
dreams."
She placed her forefinger over his mouth.
"Sh-h!" she said. "I'm not a saint, Gerald; you know that."
"Yes," he said, with a great deal of boyishness in his defiance, "I do
know it, Hester, but it is those who have been through the fire who can
sometimes come out--new. It was your early environment."
"My aunt died on the town, Gerald, I heard. I could have saved her all
that if I had only known. She was cheap, aunt was. Poor soul! She never
looked ahead."
"It was your early environment, Hester. I've explained that often enough
to them here. I'd bank on you, Hester--swear by you."
She patted him.
"I'm a pretty bad egg, Gerald. According to the standards of a town
like this, I'm rotten, and they're about right. For five years, Gerald,
I've--"
"The real _you_ is ahead of--and not behind you, Hester.
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