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Show Page 221 Choking back the tears that filled my throat, I shook my head. "Forgive me, John," I told him. "You are my dearest friend, but I cannot say the words you wish to hear." If only I could have told him the reason why. It might have eased his hurt. But I knew he would only scoff at my fears and I knew not if I could resist his pleading. I knew only that the fear was real. So I spurned my love that he might live. I felt a cold draft upon my back. When I turned, John had left me. During the next week I walked as in a thick cloud of mist. I woke, did my chores, chatted with Mistress Pierce, even laughed with the other guests. Outwardly I was the same Sarah. But inside I was numb with pain. I mourned as though I had again lost a loved one to the grave. Indeed, though John yet lived and breathed, he was lost to me. I found myself making excuses to go about the fort, always taking a route that would lead me near where he worked, near where his troop was drilling, near where he sat by a fire warming his hands before taking up his labors once again. I knew not if he saw me as I skirted about the edge of his life. I only knew he made no sign he saw. One day, as I was returning to the house with a bucket of |