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Updated: May 28, 2025
She's so cur'us, Dusk is. Thar aint no gettin' at her. Ye know the gals ses as she's allers doin' fust one quare thing 'n' then another to get the boys mad at each other. But Lor', p'r'aps 'taint so! Dusk's powerful good-lookin', and gals is jealous, ye know." "Do you think," questioned Miss Noble, "that they really would have killed each other?" "Lord! yaas," placidly. "They went to do it.
Florian remembered presently to smile back at her. Then he went out of the castle into a starless night that was as quiet as an unvoiced menace. A small and hard and gnarled-looking moon ruled over the dusk's secrecy. The moon this night, afloat in a luminous gray void, somehow reminded Florian of a glistening and unripe huge apple.
She did not answer him at once, but seemed to weigh his words as she looked out across the moonlight. "Ye mean, will I let ye put me in a picter?" she said at last. He nodded. "Yes," she answered. "I reckon he told ye he was a-paintin' Dusk's picter," "Mis'" Harney said to her boarders a week later. "Mr. Lennox?" returned Rebecca; "yes, he told us." "I thort so," nodding benignly.
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