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Updated: May 21, 2025
"At the end of those twelve months my cup of bitterness was filled to overflowing. You were born. You, with your deep-blue eyes and red-gold hair. You, Charles Stanmore's child but not mine." Her voice died out, and Joan understood something of the passion in this strange woman's soul. But the next moment a hard laugh jarred her nerves. It was a laugh that had no mirth.
In a democratic moment she had refused Hess' offer of a private car, and she now rather regretted it. She had a headache, and the great coils of red-gold hair seemed to weigh tons. It would have been a relief to have it taken down and brushed by a deft-fingered maid. But the maid also had been left behind. And that, she decided, was a mistake, also. Clyde Burnaby was alone in the world.
There, in the midst of them, was Horieneke, bent also like the others, in her coarse workaday clothes, with a basket of seed-potatoes on her arm; and her red-gold curls now hung, like long corkscrews, wet against her face; and every now and then she would draw herself up, tossing her head back to keep them out of her eyes.
A child lay there in a light and refreshing sleep; his head rested on a girl's breast, and her right arm was thrown protectingly over him. The girl, too, slept, and her disordered red-gold hair half covered her face. In such a manner, therefore, this short history comes to an end.
"Maybe and maybe not," said Myra, with a toss of her red-gold head. "If you are right, then Don Carlos is merely trying to amuse himself at my expense. I have no use for a professional philanderer who imagines that no woman can resist him. Him and his King of the Gypsies prophecy! Pouf!"
She came out to him from the door, not richly dressed now, but in a simple white linen robe and not an ornament on her except that splendid crown of the red-gold hair on her head. And her face too was almost colourless now, and grave and still.
Mabel I despatched to her grandmother, who adored her with a love condescendingly returned by the little fairy of three, and never was there a prettier picture than the red-gold curls nestled against the white, the baby-grace in exquisite contrast with the worn stateliness of her tender nurse.
"Alma Mater, Dexter darling, do re mi O dear! It's much harder to write than I supposed. I wonder why! When your heart is full of love, why should it be hard to express it?" Catherine Smith, sitting on the top step of the porch of her home, Three Gables, bent her red-gold head over the pad of paper on her knee and wrote painfully, her forehead puckered earnestly.
Bill laughed without mirth. "Gee, it leaves the Bell River outfit saints beside them," he said. Kars' contemplative eyes were following the movements of a handsome blond woman with red-gold hair, which was aglitter with a half circle band of jewels supporting an aigrette, which must have cost five thousand dollars. She was obviously young, extremely young.
Lenox caressed the child's red-gold hair with a cautious reverent hand, and a contraction of envy at his heart. "What a beautiful little chap he is! Begins to look an out-and-out Meredith already. Desmond must be tremendously proud of him." She smiled and pressed him closer. "He is; and I'm nearly as bad! One son, three fools, you know!
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