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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

Besides, they were camping
OUT of the house, and if she chose to sit up or walk about, no one could
think it strange. She wished her father were here that she might have
some one of her own kin to talk to, yet she knew not what to say to him
if he had come. She wanted somebody to sympathize with her feelings,--or
rather, perhaps, some one to combat and even ridicule the uneasiness
that had lately come over her. She knew what her father would say,--"Do
you want to go, or do you want to stay here? Do you like these people,
or do you not?" She remembered the one or two glowing and enthusiastic
accounts she had written him of her visit here, and felt herself
blushing again. What would he think of Mrs. Randolph's opening and
answering the telegram? Wouldn't he find out from the major if she had
garbled the sense of his dispatch?
Away to the right, in the midst of the distant and invisible
wheat-field, there was the same intermittent star, which like a living,
breathing thing seemed to dilate in glowing respiration, as she had seen
it the first night of her visit.


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