“Anne,” he whispered. “Do you really care about me after all?”
The next instant he was beside her. She hid her face against his cheek.
“For weeks I’ve been wretched,” she sobbed. “All the time I knew I loved you. Yet I wouldn’t admit it; something held me back.”
“It was my stupidity, my pride.”
“No,” she answered, laughing and weeping at the same time. “It was mine.”
He lifted her wet face and kissed her. She felt a singing in her heart. Her troubled soul was suddenly at peace. The train thundered onward, bearing them toward a future which stretched ahead brightly for them both.
A. J. Cronin, Vigil in the Night
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