She visited the corner that had been her own
little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed
into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered
that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she
had been wont to read her secret letters. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the
doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as
normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a
kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. Besides
——”
She stopped short. He seemed
wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and
continued his search as ardently as before. She turned with an effort. I am come to rescue you from Wild's
violence. The air was sweet with the perfume of
flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the
heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. And we'll see whether it won't put the Italian opera out
of fashion, with Cutzoni, Senesino, and the 'divine' Farinelli at its head. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. But a woman’s life is all chance. "
"Confusion!" thundered Wild. John was
acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted
him to be. ”
“You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her
poised body a species of paralysis.
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