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Updated: May 4, 2025
He looked down at her quickly and she saw him in the mood of story-telling to the children, suffused with the radiance of a decision. "I prefer the Leddys of Little Rivers to the Leddys of New York," he said. "I am not going to-morrow! I am going to have land and a home under the aegis of the Eternal Painter and in sight of Galeria, and worship at the shrine of fecund peace.
He and his Wrath of God and Jag Ear are away to other worlds!" "And other Leddys!" "No doubt! No doubt!" concluded the Doge, in high good humor, all the vexation of his diary seemingly forgotten as he left the room. But, as the Doge and Mary were to find, they were alone among Little Riversites in thinking that the breaking of Pedro Nogales's wrist was horrible.
She rose exultantly, disregarding any formality that she would owe to the average guest; for an average guest he was not. Her attitude meant that she was having the last word; that she was showing her mettle. He did not rise. He was staring into the sunlight, as if it were darkness alive with flitting spectres which baffled identification. "Yes, back back to armies of Leddys!" he said slowly.
The two were alone on the spot where the Eternal Painter had introduced them so simply as Jack and Mary, and where he, as the easy traveller, had listened to her plead for his own life. It was his turn to plead. She was not to be won by fighting Leddys or tearing up pine-trees by their roots.
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