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Updated: May 8, 2025
"If you care for me if I can be every thing to you" Cornelia's voice was broken and tossed upon the uncontrolled waves of fighting emotions, and she could give little care to the form and manner of her speech. "I love you of course I love you! what else is there for me to do? But I've been all this time trying to find out what love was. I thought I loved Sophie, you know."
Pompey, sailing by the city of Amphipolis, crossed over from thence to Mitylene, with a design to take in Cornelia and his son; and as soon as he arrived at the port in that island, he dispatched a messenger into the city, with news very different from Cornelia's expectation.
He knew that Achillas, the head of the army, bitterly opposed the idea of letting Pompeius land; he knew, what was almost as much to the point, that Pratinas did not care to renew certain acquaintanceships contracted at Rome. Therefore the young Hellene calmed Cornelia's fears, and waited as best he might.
But as months went by, and he seemed always well and busy, and full of plans for a visit home, she forgave him, and wrote him twice weekly again, charming, motherly letters, in which newspaper clippings and concert programmes likely to interest him were enclosed, and amateur photographs, snapshots of Cornelia in her furs, laughing against a background of snowy Common, snapshots of Cornelia's children with old Kelly in the motor-car, and of dear Taylor and Cornelia with Sally Middleton on the yacht.
Believe ME, Anne, it took all the grace of God in my heart to keep me from just whisking up that stew-pan of boiling fat and pouring it over his head." Anne laughed over Miss Cornelia's wrath as she sped through the darkness. But laughter accorded ill with that night. She was sober enough when she reached the house among the willows. Everything was very silent.
Gilbert went with her, to help her, and make the necessary arrangements for her. He came home with the report that the Montreal surgeon whom they had consulted agreed with him that there was a good chance of Dick's restoration. "Very comforting," was Miss Cornelia's sarcastic comment. Anne only sighed. Leslie had been very distant at their parting. But she had promised to write.
"I'm in a hurry to get this done, and there isn't any time to lose." Anne looked in some surprise at the white garment spread over Miss Cornelia's ample lap. It was certainly a baby's dress, and it was most beautifully made, with tiny frills and tucks. Miss Cornelia adjusted her glasses and fell to embroidering with exquisite stitches. "This is for Mrs. Fred Proctor up at the Glen," she announced.
"I don't suppose it would be the least use to ask you not to show this letter to Mrs. Burton, and I won't, but if you do, I wish you would ask her what she thinks it means, and whether it's fate, or foreordination, or what." Mrs. Saunders carried Cornelia's letter to Mrs. Burton, as Cornelia had foreseen, but the question she put to her was not the abstraction the girl had suggested. "Mrs.
I wasn't certain whether it was her or Miss Saunders first when I saw her, the other day." At her door Mrs. Montgomery invited him to come in, and he said he did not know but he would for a minute, and Cornelia's gratitude for his praise of her mother kept her from leaving them at once. In the dining-room, where Mrs. Montgomery set out a lunch for him, he began to tell stories.
Is he so very handsome?" "Yes." The proud lip trembled. "I heard Anne Vernon say she liked him better than all her other beaux, and that is great praise, coming from her queenship," said Emily Wood, who stood near. Cornelia's eyes dilated angrily, as she answered with curling lips: "Eugene one of her beaux! It is no such thing." "You need not look so insulted.
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