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Updated: June 14, 2025
No such flower had bloomed for her in her whole life. "Why, Dorcas," he said, "think how we've worked together! What do you s'pose we worked so for?" Alida's name rose to her lips, but her tongue refused to speak. At that moment it seemed too slight a word to say. "'Twas so we could find out where we stood," the grave voice went on. "That was it."
A healing sense of quiet and security already began to steal into Alida's bruised heart. In turning her back upon the town in which she had suffered so greatly, she felt like one escaping from prison and torture. An increasing assurance of safety came with every mile; the cool, still radiance of the night appeared typical of her new and most unexpected experience.
She thought of the days that had gone to buying this thing of prettiness, the strained muscles, the racing blood and thrilling brain, the sweat and toil of it, and something choked her to think that now the pretty thing was almost won. Newell would have it, his heart's desire, and in thirty years perhaps it would look like Alida's mother with that shallow mouth.
She ISN'T of the common sort. I've got to brace up and be more of a man as well as Tim Weeks." In spite of the pain in his head, Alida's words proved true. He was happier than he had been in many a long day.
I've told only my wife, and they've kept mum at the police station, so the thing hasn't got into the papers." Alida's head bowed lower still as she replied, "I thank you. My only wish now is to find some quiet place in which I can work and be left to myself." "Very well," said Tom good-naturedly. "Cheer up! I'll be on the lookout for you."
So far from regretting this isolation and remoteness from the central life of the town, Alida's feelings sanctioned his choice. The sense of possessing security and a refuge was increased, and it was as natural for her to set about making the rooms homelike as it was to breathe.
The wife had laid her still sleeping child down on the lounge and was coolly completing Alida's preparations for dinner. Her husband had sunk back into a chair and again buried his face in his hands. He looked up with startled, bloodshot eyes as his brother-in-law and the stranger entered, and then resumed his former attitude. Mrs.
Mary, at the moment, had laughed with him, yet almost with her laugh, being possessed of several sets of independent perceptions, had noted a sudden flatness of tone in Alida's answering hilarity. "Oh, Dorsetshire's full of ghosts, you know." "Yes, yes; but that won't do. I don't want to have to drive ten miles to see somebody else's ghost. I want one of my own on the premises.
Still glaring angrily at Riedermann and Motley, Warren got down slowly from the table. Then we bade Taplin and Nerida good-bye and went aboard. At daylight we saw Taplin and his wife go off in the ALIDA'S boat.
"She is that chatty and sociable that I forget the pain while she is about, and it would do your heart good to see how she do cozy up the place before she leaves it." Doctor Mayne repeated this to Alida. "You are getting on bravely with your definitions," she said, with an approving pat on her shoulder. "What do you think of 'Alida's fad' now?" she asked Mrs. Gooding, several months later.
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