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Updated: May 24, 2025
But she was a slow awakening soul, groping, and she did not know. The next morning Harriet sat in Alexina's room putting criss-cross initials on a pile of unmarked little garments. It was part of the creed that clothes be marked. Presently, as the child came to her aunt's knee for a completed garment, Harriet laid a hand on the little shoulder.
That big hat looks well on your yellow hair, Alexina And I'm going to be plain: it's bad for Emily; she's discontented with things now, she always has been." Alexina's eyes dilated. "Coming to see Emily? Does does Emily want him to come?" "Alexina," called Emily down the stairs; "aren't you coming up?" Alexina went up to the room which Emily shared with her two little sisters. It was hard on her.
In front of every saloon was a group of young men almost fascinatingly common to Alexina's cloistered eyes, their hats tilted over their foreheads at an indescribable angle, rank black cigars in the corners of their mouths, or cigarettes hanging from their loose lips, leering at "bunches" of girls that passed unattended, appraising them cynically, making strident or stage-whispered comments.
The red was waving up to Alexina's very hair. Emily showed no resentment at this implication which both seemed to take for granted, but then she was not following Alexina very closely, her own thoughts being absorbing. "The wedding will have to be in our little house," she said, "so it won't make much difference about the dress; nobody'll be there. But for the rest, I'm going to have some clothes.
I envy them envy them!" They were standing in a far corner of the room, after having examined three or four admirable and many passable paintings. Aileen looked at her in surprise. They had both been remarking upon the comic aspects of the intellectual life, and Alexina's outburst was unexpected. Aileen had seldom seen her vehement since they had outgrown their youthful habit of wrangling.
It was three months later that Aileen, once more sitting in Alexina's bedroom, after her return from Santa Barbara, where she had gone with her father for the summer, said abruptly: "Dad is terribly cut up, dear old thing.
He has no place in this biography save in so far as he jarred the inner forces of Alexina's being, and he fell at Chateau-Thierry. Alexina lifted her delicate profile and gave it as sulky an expression as she could assume. She really liked him, but was annoyed at being trapped. "I don't in the least wish to marry you." "Everybody knows you don't care a straw for Dwight.
And where was M. Garnier, the husband "the promising young French poet," as Uncle Randolph had termed him to some one, in the child Alexina's hearing, those years ago? The letter made no mention of him. Alexina closed the Infirmary gate and walked up the wide pavement to the entrance. The little Sister knew her well now and smiled a welcome as she let her in.
Emily stood, too, archly, and, meeting Alexina's look, laughed. Her blush was an acknowledgment; she did not even pretend to misunderstand Alexina's meaning.
Emily flushed a little, but she answered unconcernedly, "Well enough, I reckon." On Alexina's return to the hotel, the clerk stopped her in the corridor, looking a little embarrassed under the clear, surprised gaze of the young lady. "It's about a little matter with Mrs. Garnier; it's been running two months now."
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