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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

Was she going to stay long at the major's?
He noticed she had not brought her trunk with her. Had she known the
major's wife long? Perhaps she thought of settling in the neighborhood?
All this naive, good-humored questioning--so often cruelly misunderstood
as mere vulgar curiosity, but as often the courteous instinct of simple
unaffected people to entertain the stranger by inviting him to talk of
what concerns himself rather than their own selves--was nevertheless,
I fear, met only by monosyllables from the young lady or an impatient
question in return. She scarcely raised her eyes to the broad
jean-shirted back that preceded her through the grain until the
man abruptly ceased talking, and his manner, without losing its
half-paternal courtesy, became graver. She was beginning to be conscious
of her incivility, and was trying to think of something to say, when
he exclaimed with a slight air of relief, "Here we are!" and the shanty
suddenly appeared before them.
It certainly was very rough--a mere shell of unpainted boards that
scarcely rose above the level of the surrounding grain, and a few yards
distant was invisible.


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