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Updated: June 22, 2025
Those around Lake City chase after the students and the Indians who've got Government allowances, and get their money away from them." "Oh," said Lydia. "Oh!" Then thoughtfully, "Aren't men silly!" "Yes, they are," agreed Kent. "And, Lyd, whenever you want to know about such things, you ask me. It's a man's place to tell a girl the things she ought to know."
At Lydford is a remarkable chasm where a rude arch is thrown across an abyss, at the bottom of which, eighty feet below, the Lyd rattles along in its contracted bed. This is a favorite place for suicides, and the tale is still told of a benighted horseman, caught in a heavy storm, who spurred his horse along the road at headlong speed to seek shelter in the village.
HOR. The Thracian Chloe now commands me, skillful in sweet modulations, and a mistress of the lyre; for whom I would not dread to die, if the fates would spare her, my surviving soul. LYD. Calais, the son of the Thurian Ornitus, inflames me with a mutual fire; for whom I would twice endure to die, if the fates would spare my surviving youth.
I move we have a bonfire and keep it going all day " "I'd forgotten that the old rocking-horse was here," Sally said one day, with pleasure. "The boys will love it! And do you know, Lyd, I was thinking that this little table with the leg mended and painted white wouldn't be a bit bad in my hall.
Len suddenly came up behind his sisters, frightening them with a deep "Boo!" before he emerged from the blackness to join them. "Javva good time?" he asked, adding carelessly, "I was there." "Yes, you were!" Martie said incredulously. "You wish you were!" "Honest, I was," Len said. "Honest I was, Lyd." "Well, you weren't there until pretty late, Len," Lydia said in mild disapproval.
Lydia was pale, too, but it was the paleness of fatigue, and had nothing in common with Martie's starry pallor. "Martie, do you know what time it is?" "Lyd I know it's late!" "Late? It's two o'clock." "Not really?" Martie bunched her splendid hair with a white hand under each ear, and faced her affronted sister innocently.
The late June dusk found them still threading the endless aisles of pine, their sense of direction completely obscured by the sinking of the sun. "Scared, Lyd?" inquired Kent as they paused for a moment's rest on a log. "No, but I'm awful hungry and I've chewed gum till I'll scream if I see another piece. We ought to come on another wick-i-up soon." "We've come on a dozen of them," grumbled Kent.
Lydia buried her nose in a bunch of violets that Professor Willis had sent her. "I think she ought to go if she wants to," she said. "Guess I'll ask her now," cried Kent, disappearing kitchenward. Lydia lay watching snowflakes sift softly past the window. It was not long before Margery and Kent appeared. "She's going!" cried Kent. Margery's beautiful eyes were glowing. "Yes, I'm going, Lyd!
But she was not so obliging if mere pleasure took Sally away from her maternal duties. Sally told Martie that there was no asking Lyd to help, either she did it voluntarily, or wild horses couldn't make her do it at all. If her younger sisters entrusted their children to Aunt Lydia, she was an adoring and indulgent aunt.
I I don't want to be like like Lyd, Sally; I want to live! What can I do? Oh, my GOD," said Martie, rising suddenly and beginning to walk to and fro, with her magnificent mane of hair rolling and tumbling about her shoulders as she moved, "what shall I do? There is a world, out there, and people working and living and succeeding in it and here I am, in Monroe dying, dying, DYING of longing!
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