Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: July 8, 2025
There was the slight hissing of the seal of my door. The panel slid. I had leaped from my bunk where in the darkness I was lying tense. "Prince?" I did not dare say "Anita." "Gregg." Her voice. My gaze swept the deck as the panel opened. Neither Coniston nor anyone else was in sight, save Anita's dark-robed figure which came into my room. "You got it?" I asked in a low whisper.
Never was anything seen like Anita's devotion to her father. It seemed as if she were never out of sound and reach of him and gave up all the merry-making of the Christmas time to be with him. This prevented Broussard from seeing Anita very often, and never alone, but they had entered the Happy Valley together, and basked in the delicate joy of love unspoken, but not unfelt.
He had perhaps walked many weary miles in the heat. Would he with a gesture interpreting her speech be pleased to rest awhile? Without hesitation, he would. As he sat on the doorstep gazing contentedly at the flowers bordering the path, Anita's mother appeared from some mysterious recess of the 'dobe and questioned Anita with quick low utterance.
"You have on your Erentz suits: are you going to the dome roof? Then go." But that was what we did not want to do. Anita's glance seemed to tell me to let her handle this. I turned toward one of the cubby windows. She said sweetly, "Are you in charge of this room? Show me how the projector is operated. I know it will be invincible against the Grantline camp." I had my back to them for a moment.
"Wilmott and the girl were not due until nine and I had finished by half past eight." "How did you know Wilmott would not be there until nine?" "Martinez told me. It was in Anita's petit bleu that Mrs. Wilmott showed him." "Had you no direct dealings with Anita?" The baron shook his head. "I never saw the girl. The thing just happened and I took my chance."
Yet, as I pondered it, the very daring of the scheme seemed the measure of its possible success. The brigands would never imagine we could be so rash! "But Anita " "Gregg, you're stupid!" It was her turn to be exasperated. But I was in no mood for daring. My mind was obsessed with Anita's safety.
None of the Holy Sisters can so weave them as she does; she makes Festa forever in the house for the Signor; and I think, Signora," crossing herself and looking sharply at me, "perhaps the gold table is the shrine of her religion: does the Signora know?" I could not help laughing. "Oh no, Anita," I said; "we do not have shrines in our religion." Anita's face clouded.
Broussard, in the friendly shadow of the tea table, held on a moment to Anita's hand. She looked straight away from Broussard, her red lips smiling at an infatuated second lieutenant on the other side of her, but her cheeks, already of a delicate rose color, hung out the scarlet flag which means, in love, a surrender.
The eloquent blood leaped into Anita's cheeks, and there was something like resentment in her eyes at the Colonel's cool commendation. After dinner she took Beverley into the garden, and the brother and sister walked up and down in the moonlight, and Anita, thinking she was keeping her secret, revealed everything to Beverley.
The father and mother ran into the road tossing their hands in despair; a dozen belated rescuers hurried to them, each arrival adding his screams to the hubbub; then each advising the rest what should be done, and nobody doing anything. The young planter, Anita's betrothed, was quickly on the ground, and he alone was resolute and cool.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking