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She had known Macey, as he called himself, only a fortnight. He had been introduced to her at a sort of Bohemian gathering, had talked to her, direct, as she liked a man to talk. He had seen her home that night, had asked to call, and on the other nights had taken her to the theater and to supper. Delicately unconsciously, a bond of friendship had grown up between them.
I am rather sorry to receive these strangers into the quiet life that we are leading here; for we had grown quite to feel ourselves at home, and the two young ladies, Mr. Thaxter, his wife and sister, and myself, met at meal-times like one family. The young ladies gathered shells, arranged them, laughed gently, sang, and did other pretty things in a young-ladylike way.
"Well," said Teddy, "she's just gone over into the sewing-room, and I want to know whether you won't let me take her into a square sometime." "My mercy, no!" said the fairy. "Have you forgotten what I told you the first time I came?" "What was that?" "I told you I went to see little boys and girls. I don't go to see grown people. They wouldn't believe in me." "My mother would," said Teddy.
Olenka herself had grown plain and elderly; in summer she sat in the porch, and her soul, as before, was empty and dreary and full of bitterness. In winter she sat at her window and looked at the snow.
At the top his face was bathed in perspiration, and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve. It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grown accustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of the walls. But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and minute detail, he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings.
"Besides, I want to hear what happens next to those two beautiful young people in our book. So be quick with my old diet, and come and read ..." There is perhaps nothing so lovely or so well worth having as the gratitude of the old towards the young that care to give them more than the perfunctory ministrations to which they have long since grown sadly accustomed.
She recalled how a woman, once a great singer, now grown old in years as in sorrow, had sung this very song to her then, in the hour of her direst apprehension. She sang it now to her own dead child, and to Jigger. When she ceased, there was not a sound save of some woman gently sobbing. Others were vainly trying to choke back their tears.
You have lost the most amiable of girls, who would have grown up to womanhood a pattern to her sex, one who sacrificed her own interests to yours: who preferred you to all that fortune could bestow, and considered you as the only recompense worthy of her virtues. "But might not this very object, from whom you expected the purest happiness, have proved to you a source of the most cruel distress?
"Yes, yes," she whispered faintly; "read it to me, Henry;" and, turning her face away, she listened while he read that Maggie Miller, grown weary of her troth, asked a release from her engagement. He finished reading, and then waited in silence to hear what Rose would say. But for a time she did not speak.
For some minutes after John had left the platform, Josephine sat unmoved in her seat beside her aunt, lost in thought as she watched the surging crowd below. "Well," said Miss Schenectady, "you have heard John Harrington now." Joe started. She had grown used to the implied interrogation her aunt usually conveyed in that way. "He is a great man, Aunt Zoe," she said quietly, and looked round.
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