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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"A Sappho of Green Springs"

Everything had been arranged as she had wished.
Even a more practical man than Rushbrook might have lingered over the
picture of the tall, graceful figure of Miss Nevil, quietly enthroned in
a large armchair by the fire, her scarlet, satin-lined cloak thrown over
its back, and her chin resting on her hand. But the millionaire
walked directly towards her with his usual frankness of conscious but
restrained power, and she felt, as she always did, perfectly at her
ease in his presence. Even as she took his outstretched hand, its
straightforward grasp seemed to endow her with its own confidence.
"You'll excuse my coming here so abruptly," she smiled, "but I wanted
to get before Mr. Leyton, who, I believe, wishes to see you on the same
business as myself."
"He is here already, and dining with me," said Rushbrook.
"Ah! does he know I am here?" asked the girl, quietly.
"No; as he said you had thought of coming with him and didn't, I
presumed you didn't care to have him know you had come alone.


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