Beadle's Dime Novels No. 20: Florida; or, The Iron Will — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

» a FLORIDA ; OR, THE TRON WILT trying vainly to clear her brow and assume the cheerfulness are “Ah! I see; Florida has been manufacturing time for you. Some of her harsh words are swinging against your heart like a leaden pendulum ; isn’t it so ?” “O, dear! don’t speak of it, Parker,” Virginia exclaimed almost with a cry, while blushing cheeks and tear-filled eyes attested to the bitterness of the pang she suffered, and felt she should inflict., “I might as well tell you, and have done with it. Florida is going to the city and will take mother -and me along with her.” “No! Virginia—no—no ;” said Parker, stopping abruptly. His voice was unwontedly low, but then the tones were fierce and hollow. “But what can I do? O!T had almost rather die”—hers _ the tears choked her voice—“ but when Florida wills a thing, you know it must be done. I have seemed in a dream ever since. 0, | ca ttom Smale eg She almost unconsciously; but now her gaze was riveted on cheeks, crimson with a passionate hectic, his lips white and bitten, his eyes flashing angrily. “She is rpent, Virginia,” he said in a slow, hissing whisper; “s ts to part us, as the thing of evil parted Adam and Eve from Paradise.” “She can not part us, Parker,” said Virginia, softly, though she was atarmed: for it seemed, looking at him, as though there was a freshly dug grave at her feet, and that the strange aroma of the thrown-up earth penetrated her senses till it made her faint and sick. Was not death written on that brow, so beautiful and white ? “T tell you it is for nothing else, Virginia. I can read her. There is speculation in her eyes. She prices your beauty, charm by charm, and sets it opposite figures. She is a mercer {n flesh and blood, Virginia; she will sell you—oh !—<e}] you.” Virginia grew giddy; the vehemence of his words—the weight hir soul’s anguish gave to the very syllables, oppressed ‘her, hung on her heart. Still she seemed to haye little to say, though she felt to the very core of her being. — | “I can’t lose you, love.” comlicloooks.com