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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

Rushbrook joined her.
"There isn't much to be changed down THERE, is there?" he said, half
interrogatively.
"No, not unless Mr. Rushbrook took it into his head to roof it in, and
somebody was ready with a contract to do it. But what do you know of
him? Remember, I'm quite a stranger here."
"You came with Charley Leyton?"
"With MRS. Leyton's party," said the young girl, with a half-smiling
emphasis. "But it seems that we don't know whether Mr. Rushbrook wants
us here or not till he comes. And the drollest thing about it is that
they're all so perfectly frank in saying so."
"Charley and he are old friends, and you'll do well to trust to their
judgment."
This was hardly the kind of response that the handsome and clever
society girl before him had been in the habit of receiving, but it
amused her. Her fellow-guest was decidedly original. But he hadn't
told her about Rushbrook, and it struck her that his opinion would be
independent, at least. She reminded him of it.


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