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Flint was afraid that Barbara was a "silly little girl." "I hope, Miss Letts, that she no longer talks about her silly fancies." "She has said nothing to me in that respect for a considerable period, Mrs. Flint." "All very young children have fancies, but such things are dangerous when they grow older." "I agree with you."
Letts, "Ben ain't no likin' for Myry, Ben ain't!" A dull red flush crimsoned Myra Longman's face. She watched Tess enviously as the girl tiptoed through the doorway and disappeared. Ben Letts was stretched out on the rope cot, his massive head and thick neck swathed in bandages. Two huge hands, with patches of plaster here and there lay outside the red Indian blanket.
Pantingly she drew herself from Frederick. Why? Tess could never tell why! Myra's love for Ben Letts rushed over her overwhelmingly.... The "brat's" mother knew the sweetness of a kiss, and in it had forgotten the blasting winter winds on the ragged rocks where Ben Letts had broken her arm.
She felt herself getting drowsy, and soon the even breathing of the squatter and the student told that both slept. Tess would never know what time it happened. Suddenly her eyes flew open and through the light of a lantern she saw Ben Letts leering into her face. The frosty air was blowing in gusts through the window which the squatter Ben had forced open.
At the end of ten minutes Mr. Widden intimated that he thought he had learned enough to go on with. "Ah! that's only your conceit," said Mr. Letts over his shoulder. "I was afraid you was conceited." He turned to Miss Foster again, and Mr. Widden, with a despairing gesture, abandoned himself to gloom.
Barbara, preparing for the event, suffered her hair to be brushed, choked with strange half-sweet, half-terrible suffocation that comes from anticipated glories: half-sweet because things will, at their worst, be wonderful; half-terrible because we know that they will not be so good as we hope. Barbara, washed paler than ever, in a white frock with pink bows, was conducted by Miss Letts.
Widden checked the obvious retort and walked doggedly in the rear of Miss Foster. Then, hardly able to believe his ears, he heard her say something to Mr. Letts. "Eh?" said that gentleman, in amazed accents. "You fall behind," said Miss Foster. "That that's not the way to talk to the head of the family," said Mr. Letts, feebly. "It's the way I talk to him," rejoined the girl.
See?" The north reel stopped turning, but the south one went on silently. Ben Letts and Ezra Longman were turning over and over on the sand, at grips with each other. Professor Young uttered no word. Then Ezra's voice came from under Ben's big body. "I tells what I knows about Skinner if ye don't get up and let me be," said he. "I tells "
Perhaps he had thought she meant to marry him if he were rich. "Sandy," she said, dragging her eyes to the man's face. "When I tell you I can't marry you, I mean it. Please don't ask me any more.... Would you like a piece of cake?" "Cake?..." snarled Letts. "Hell! What do I want with cake? No, ma'am, I don't want no cake nor nothin' but you, an' I air goin' to have ye, too!"
Lucie asks me very often to take loads to the outskirts of Tumen, near the Freight Depot, which we receive with the Siberian pony, and I take it in my sledge behind the Depot, where I deliver the goods only in the evenings to the Letts. Sometimes we speak, but never much. Usually, "Very cold," or "How snowy," or "Have you a cigarette?"
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