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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

" How different he was from that
shabby Methodist minister who used to come to see her father in a black
cravat with a hideous bow! Really there was something to say for a
religion that contained so much picturesque refinement; and for her
part--but that will do. I beg to say that I am not writing of any
particular snob or feminine monstrosity, but of a very charming
creature, who was quite able to say her prayers afterwards like a good
girl, and lay her pretty cheek upon her pillow without a blush.
She opened her window and looked out. The moon, a great silver dome,
was uplifting itself from a bluish-gray level, which she knew was the
distant plain of wheat. Somewhere in its midst appeared a dull star,
at times brightening as if blown upon or drawn upwards in a comet-like
trail. By some odd instinct she felt that it was the solitary forge
of the young inventor, and pictured him standing before it with his
abstracted hazel eyes and a face more begrimed in the moonlight than
ever.


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