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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

After a hurried glance around the deserted apartment,
she arose, shook out her dress and mantle, and then going into the
darkest corner supported herself with one hand against the wall while
with the other she drew off, one by one, her slippers from her slim,
striped-stockinged feet, shook and blew out the dust that had penetrated
within, and put them on again. Then, perceiving a triangular fragment
of looking-glass nailed against the wall, she settled the strings of her
bonnet by the aid of its reflection, patted the fringe of brown hair on
her forehead with her separated five fingers as if playing an imaginary
tune on her brow, and came back with maidenly abstraction to the
doorway.
Everything was quiet, and her seclusion seemed unbroken. A smile played
for an instant in the soft shadows of her eyes and mouth as she recalled
the abrupt withdrawal of the men. Then her mouth straightened and her
brows slightly bent. It was certainly very unmannerly in them to go off
in that way.


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