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She knew that for the last five days, like a spaniel dog shut away from where it feels it ought to be, she had wanted to be where she was now standing; she knew that, in her new room with its rust-red doors, she had bitten her lips and fingers till blood came, and, as newly caged birds will flutter, had beaten her wings against those walls with blue roses on a yellow ground.
"The roses at Fair View bloom early," he said, turning her about that he might better see the red cluster in her hair. "Look you, Audrey! I wish you no great harm, child. You mind me at times of one that I knew many years ago, before ever I was chaplain to my Lord Squander or husband to my Lady Squander's waiting-woman.
The blue violet, I believe, signifies modesty, does it not?" The question was accompanied by a look at Miss Hale, who made no reply, not appearing to notice the appeal. "Our native Western plants," said the hostess, "have no poetical association. The Indians were devoid of sentiment. It is only in Persia and such romantic lands that they make roses and lilies talk.
When she returned the candle was sending out its cheerful beam, so she nodded to Doris, who said good-night to Uncle Winthrop and followed her. Doris had an odd, company-like feeling. Her little bed was pretty, and the room had a fragrance of summer time, of roses and lavender. Miss Recompense stirred the fire and put on a big log.
I did enjoy the mischief in those merry eyes that I laughed into. "I'll steal his big car and come and help you what do you say? kidnap my Uncle, the General Robert," I answered her with delight as I released her into the arms of that Buzz Clendenning before the fox had been more than half trotted. "Go pick roses out of your own garden, L'Aiglon," he said as he slid her away from me.
So she went into the garden and waved her stick over all the rose bushes and blossoms and all; they sank down into the black earth, and no one could see where they had been. The old woman was afraid that if Gerda saw the roses she would begin to think about her own, and then would remember Kay and run away. Then she led Gerda out into the garden.
Her white silk rustled as she ran to meet him. Her cheeks had the pink of roses and her eyes a glow in them like that of diamonds. She stopped as he came near, and turned away. "Tears?" said he, leaning down, with his arms about her. "Oh, love, let me see your face!" She turned quickly with a little toss of her head and took a step backward. "You shall not call me love," said she "not yet.
I am just 'Caleb Hunter's spinster sister' to the people of this village. But to to myself, Barbara, I am at times the same girl who waited, roses in her hair and roses in her cheeks, for him to come, so that I might tell him that I was his, body and soul. And he never came! Oh, my dear, I do not mean to break down like this, for you have your own heart-ache. But I trusted to reason.
Valentine threw off her lace shawl and pretty hat; she then took up the book her mother had laid down. "My walk has tired me," she said; "the sun is very warm." She lay down upon the sofa and turned her face to the window, where the roses came nodding in. "Stay here and read," said lady Charteris, with delicate tact. "I am going to write my letters."
The dewy Cherokee roses brushed my face, the solemn "Chuckwill's-widow" croaked her incantation, and the rabbits raced phantom-like across the shadowy road.
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