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Updated: May 9, 2025
Laid upon the table, the little book rolled away from the girl's fingers and lay curled upon itself in the lamplight. The limp morocco cover was spotted with mildew and half-revealed pages of close, fine writing blotched in places with rusty stains. It gave out an odor of mould and age in an atmosphere made sweet by Desire's presence.
Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time. Mark me now. In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the spirit of the maker all flesh that passes becomes the word that shall not pass away. This is the postcreation. Omnis caro ad te veniet.
And as I would not have the reader do the young man injustice in his mind, I hasten to say that the doctor's view of his character was not far out of the way. The hard complacency with which he just now regarded the calamities of the gentlemen of the town, had its origin in the constant and bitter brooding of the week past over Desire's treatment of him.
If she noticed her nephew's look of anguished guilt and his friend's politely raised brows she ascribed it to his carelessness in balancing china. Desire's downcast eyes and stiffened manner she did not notice at all. "Well, my dear, what do you say? Shall we invite Mary?" "It depends on Benis, of course," said Desire quietly. "Benis? What has Benis to do with it?
No, of course I don't mind. I am quite willing to tell you her name. But do you mean her real name or or the name she was usually called?" The professor was sparring wildly for time. "Wasn't she called by her real name?" "Well er not always." Desire's eyebrows became very slanting. "Any name will do," she said coldly. The professor gathered himself together.
This reply, the first rough speech his mother had ever made to him, extinguished in Desire's breast all desire for a marriage with the beautiful Ursula; for his father and he never got the better of any decision once written in the terrible blue eyes of Zelie Minoret.
How do you like your workroom?" "Mine?" "I thought you might not like me to say 'Ours." "Don't be silly!" "Well, how do you like it, anyway?" Desire's eyes met his for an instant and then fell quickly. But not before he had seen a mistiness which looked remarkably like Good heavens, he might have known that she would be tired and upset!
"Yes," said the girl in the same dead, mechanical voice, without turning her eyes to her mother or even raising them. Mrs. Edwards opened her mouth, but no sound came forth. Her astonishment was too utter. Meanwhile Perez had passed his arm about Desire's waist as if to claim her on her own acknowledgement. Stung by the sight of her daughter in the very arms of the rebel captain, Mrs.
In the course of conversation he managed to make some reference to Desire's piano, and the curiosity the people seemed to feel about the novel instrument. He asked Perez if he had ever seen it, and Perez saying no, invited him to drop in that evening and hear Desire play a little. It is needless to say that the young man's surprise at the invitation did not prevent his accepting it.
It was not a title which she knew, nor, if titles tell anything, did it belong to a book which invited knowing. Desire felt almost certain that it was not a book which Mary would care to read. Still, one never could tell. The professor had said nothing whatever about Mary's literary taste. Desire's eyes strayed, vaguely, from the book to its owner.
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