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Updated: May 23, 2025
And it wasn't in style then do you remember our talking it over up here once, when we were having a little friendly spat? But I suppose " "I suppose you would never have married me if you'd been so old and wise," he said. She considered. "But neither would you have," she objected. Francis looked up at her suddenly, flashingly. "You know better," he burst out.
"You said that you would hold him to account if your friend " began the count, but Quentin turned upon him coolly. "My quarrel, if there is one, is with the prince, Count Sallaconi. Will you kindly allow him to jog his own memory?" "I do not like your tone, Mr. Quentin," said the count, his eyes flashingly angrily. Phil's blood was up.
He could not bear to disturb the possession joy had taken of him, and, like a half-awake boy clinging to a dream that his hitherto unkind sweetheart has kissed him, lingered on in the enchanted atmosphere, his eyes still full of all they had beheld with such delight, detaining and smiling upon each revelation of this fresh memory the flashingly lovely faces, the dreamily lovely faces, the pearls and laces of the anemone ladies, the color and romantic fashion of the uniforms, and the old princes who had been pointed out to him: splendid old men wearing white mustaches and single eye-glasses, as he had so long hoped and dreamed they did.
"I did make the dressing and the pudding sauce myself," she admitted as gaily as she could for a fast-beating heart. "But I hoped there weren't traces. Is there flour on my face?" She smiled flashingly at him and tipped her face up provokingly, slipping from his hold where they stood by the fire together. He made one step close to her again.
I should hate to git into trouble here. I ain't that kind." Mrs. Blair was too excited to hear or heed her. She was briefly, flashingly, taking in the possibilities of the room, her bright black eyes darting here and there with fiery insistence. Suddenly she went to the closet, and, diving to the bottom of a baggy pocket in her "t'other dress," drew forth a ball of twine.
Whether he was gay in this simple, new way, or grave in the frighteningly old one, he was not the Francis she had built up for herself from a month's meetings and a few memories. He smiled at her flashingly again as they settled themselves at the little table in just the right spot and place they had chosen.
There was one child of whom he was particularly fond a child with the fairest of fair hair, deep and sweet blue eyes, and the quickest, shyest, most fleeting of smiles to lighten flashingly her small pale serious face. She had been one of the first of the mill folks' children to make friends with the Butterfly Man.
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