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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

The servants knew it. I knew it, for I was in her room at the
time with Father Antonio. The earthquake made it plain to everybody.
Decline it! No. Mr. Mallory will think twice about it before he does
that. What's that? Who's there?"
There was a sudden rustle in the bushes like the passage of some
frightened animal--and then all was still again.

CHAPTER V

The sun, an hour high, but only just topping the greenish crests of the
wheat, was streaming like the morning breeze through the open length of
Tom Bent's workshed. An exaggerated and prolonged shadow of the young
inventor himself at work beside his bench was stretching itself far into
the broken-down ranks of stalks towards the invisible road, and falling
at the very feet of Rose Mallory as she emerged from them.
She was very pale, very quiet, and very determined. The traveling mantle
thrown over her shoulders was dusty, the ribbons that tied her hat under
her round chin had become unloosed. She advanced, walking down the line
of shadow directly towards him.


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