BY THE GEORGIA CRACKER
As the music began, the lights grew soft and dim. I watched the couples as they passed like phantoms in the darkness.
Then I saw her, dancing with some wretched novice who could scarcely keep on his feet. How lovely and how wretched she looked.
“Kathleen!” I exclaimed, half aloud, and advanced.
“May I break?” I asked, and took her into my arms.
Her dancing—how can I describe it? She moved like some sprite—sure-footed languorous, as light as a summer cloud.
Drawing her to me, I suited my steps to the slow, yearning melody of the waltz. As we glided in the semi-darkness, oblivious of the passing couples she pressed her glowing cheek to mine and breathed quickly.
“Oh”—
“Sweetheart, why cannot I hold you like this forever? I feel that you are a part of my very soul!”