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Updated: July 15, 2025
But I t'ink what you do for me, it is better than all my life. Bien sur, I will come again, when I get my mind to myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he said, "an' you not happy. Well, I come again yes, a Dieu." He was gone into the night, with the moon silvering the sky, and the steely frost eating into the sentient life of this northern world.
"Pardon," he said; "I go forget everyt'ing except dat. But I t'ink what you do for me, it is better than all my life. Bien sûr, I will come again, when I get my mind to myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he said, "an' you not happy. Well, I come again yes,
When she left for her home again the Sheriff kissed her. And that was not the only time he kissed her. He did it again six months later, at the beginning of the harvest, when she and Ba'tiste Caron started off on the long trail of life together. None but Ba'tiste knew the truth about the loss of the reprieve, and to him she was "beautibul" just the same, and greatly to be desired.
She closed her eyes but could not sleep, and more than once when she opened them she thought she saw Ba'tiste sitting there as he had sat hours before. Why did Ba'tiste haunt her so? What was it he had said in his broken English as he went away? that he would come back; that she was "beautibul." All at once as she lay still, her head throbbing, her feet and hands icy cold, she sat up listening.
He did it again six months later, at the beginning of the harvest, when she and Ba'tiste Caron started off on the long trail of life together. None but Ba'tiste knew the truth about the loss of the reprieve, and to him she was "beautibul" just the same, and greatly to be desired. "I bin waitin' for him, an' I'll git him of it takes all winter. I'll git him plumb."
And even that would not matter; but she would hurt Ba'tiste Ba'tiste Ba'tiste. And Ba'tiste he would know that she and he had called her "beautibul," that she had With a cry she suddenly clothed herself for travel. She put some food and drink in a leather bag and slung them over her shoulder. Then she dropped on a knee and wrote a note to her father, tears falling from her eyes.
And even that would not matter; but she would hurt Ba'tiste Ba'tiste Ba'tiste. And Ba'tiste he would know that she and he had called her "beautibul," that she had With a cry she suddenly clothed herself for travel. She put some food and drink in a leather bag and slung them over her shoulder. Then she dropped on a knee and wrote a note to her father, tears falling from her eyes.
What was it he had said in his broken English as he went away? that he would come back; that she was "beautibul." All at once as she lay still, her head throbbing, her feet and hands icy cold, she sat up listening. "Ah-again!" she cried. She sprang from her bed, rushed to the door, and strained her eyes into the silver night. She called into the icy void, "Qui va la? Who goes?"
But I t'ink what you do for me, it is better than all my life. Bien sur, I will come again, when I get my mind to myself. Ah, but you are beautibul," he said, "an' you not happy. Well, I come again yes, a Dieu." He was gone into the night, with the moon silvering the sky, and the steely frost eating into the sentient life of this northern world.
What was it he had said in his broken English as he went away? that he would come back; that she was "beautibul." All at once as she lay still, her head throbbing, her feet and hands icy cold, she sat up listening. "Ah-again!" she cried. She sprang from her bed, rushed to the door, and strained her eyes into the silver night. She called into the icy void, "Qui va la? Who goes?"
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