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Updated: May 11, 2025
An' when the doctor come out o' there into the kitchen, he shuts the door. I see right off somethin' was the matter. He took Mr. Loneway off to the back window, an' I rattled 'round with the dishes an' took on not to notice. Up until when the doctor goes out an' then I felt Mr. Loneway's grip on my arm. I looked at him, an' I knew. She wasn't goin' to get well.
I sat beside the fire, listening to the fine, measured fall of Peleg's axe so much more vital with the spirit of music than his flute; looking at Calliope's brown earthen baking dishes so much purer in line than the village bric-a-brac; thinking of Peleg's story and of the life that beat within it as life does not beat in the unaided letter of the law. But chiefly I thought of Linda Loneway.
She was allus pretty, but she looked like an angel in that. An' I says to myself then, I says: 'If a woman knows she looks like that in them things, an' if she loves somebody an', livin' or dead, wants to look like that for him, I want to know who's to blame her? I ain't Peleg Bemus, he ain't. Mis' Loneway was as pretty as I ever see, not barrin' the stage.
Loneway standin' in the middle o' the floor. I must 'a' stopped still, because something stumbled up against me from the back, an' the two constables was there, comin' close behind me. I could hear one of 'em breathin'. "Then I went on up, an' somehow I knew there wasn't nothin' more to wait for.
An' she was laughin', an' her cheeks was pink-like, an' she says, "'Oh, Mr. Bemus, she says, 'I feel like a queen, she says, 'an' you must stay for dinner. "I never seen Mr. Loneway gayer.
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