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Updated: May 13, 2025
She kissed him, and, his eyes shut, the touch of her lips re-created about him the parlor of the Braleys, the stiffly arranged furniture with its gay plush, the varnished fretwork of the organ, the pink glow of the lamp. She was Hannah!
That's French, but spelled different, and means brightness. And I'm bright, Casper. "My, what are you so glum about the dump you live in or matrimony? There was a gentleman in an orchestra in Harrisburg wanted to marry me he played the oboe but I declined. Too Bohemian.... This is where we turn," she cried instinctively, and they swung into the valley where the Braleys had their clearing.
He was trying to picture Hannah standing in the door waiting for him, to hear her calling him from work; but always Phebe intervened with her travesty of Hannah's clear loveliness. Again at the Braleys' he found the family in the kitchen listening with absorbed interest to Phebe's stories of life and the stage.
It seemed to him that he grew older, in appearance anyhow, with exceptional rapidity; his face grew leaner and his beard, which he continued to shave, was soiled with gray hair. He avoided the Braleys and their clearing; and when circumstance drew him into conversation with Richmond or Hosmer he studiously spoke of indifferent things. He heard nothing of Hannah.
Wilmer was building a house for her just as he had built one for Hannah. He remembered his delight and pride as it had approached completion; he remembered the evening, nearly twenty years ago, when he had sat on the bank across the road and seen it finished. Then he had ridden, without waiting to fix up, to the Braleys'; Hannah had scolded him as they sat in the parlor.
He left the mail with Ettie at his door and rode on, turning for the first time in nine years into the narrow valley of the Braleys' home. The place had been neglected until it was hardly distinguishable from the surrounding tangled wild. Such sheep as he saw were in wretched condition, wild and massed with filth and burrs. Mrs.
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