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Updated: May 14, 2025
He had the advantage of less weight with the same height. Sara's running pants and jersey were drenched with sweat. He was running with his mouth dropped open, head back, every superb line of his body showing under his wet clothes. His tawny hair gleamed in the sun. No sculptured marble of a Greek runner was ever more beautiful than Sara as he ran the Marathon.
Molly grasped it, managing to get out a hurried "Thank you," under Sara's eyes; pulled at the string, whirled around a few times in search for a knife, though Morton was holding his out all the time, and finally, getting to the box, snatched at its cover and dropped the whole thing, the bonbons inside rolling all over the floor. "Oh, oh, oh!
"Then my references are satisfactory, so to speak," said she, with a wry little smile. "Perfectly," said he, with conviction; "if we are to put any dependence in the intelligence office." "Doesn't it stagger Mrs. Wrandall somewhat to reconcile my pedigree to the position I occupy in Sara's household that of companion, so to say?" asked Hetty, a slight curl to her lip. He looked rather blank.
Morva approached her softly, and pressed a kiss on the marble forehead; she felt her hands, they were supple though cold; the eyes were closed and the breathing was scarcely perceptible, but Morva had no fear for Sara's safety.
"And I had a few errands to do in the village." "Don't spoil it!" "I am a horribly literal person," she said. "Better that than literally horrible," he retorted, rather proud of himself for it. "It's wonderful, the friendship between you two girls Sara's not much more than a girl, you see. You're so utterly unlike in every way."
A cool sea breeze, brine-laden, swept over the moor, refreshing and invigorating her, and she turned again to the cottage with renewed longing for Sara's awakening. When she entered, she found that the rays of the rising sun shone full upon the quiet face, on the placid brow, and the closed eyes, imparting to them a look of unearthly spirituality.
There was a little clump of alders, and I can see how he looked then. Oh, Ursula, these memories are very sad, but they are sweet, too; for Charlie is our Charlie still, is he not? 'Poor Lesbia! I sighed, as I folded up her letter and prepared for my day's work. 'It must be hard for her to witness Sara's happiness, when her own life is so clouded.
As for Molly, she was as happy as a bird in these pleasant surroundings, and danced about the house all day long; now concocting some delicate dish in the kitchen, under the supervision of Hetty, the cook, who had taken a great fancy to her; now taking an old dress or bonnet of Sara's, and, by a dexterous touch here, or a perked-up bow of fresh ribbon there, giving it an altogether new and elegant appearance; or else feeding the birds, or lounging in the hammock, chattering with a group of girls, always busy, happy, and useful, if her studies were quite forgotten.
Another time I might have been amused by Aunt Philippa's majestic deportment and Sara's brisk importance, her girlish airs and graces; but I was too sad at heart to indulge in my usual satire.
"What a ghastly stone to hang round a man's neck for the term of his natural life! If they'd shot him, it would have been more merciful! That would at least have limited the suffering," he went on, taking Sara's hand and holding it in his strong, kindly one a moment. "Poor little comrade! Oh, my dear" as she shrank instinctively "I'm not going to talk about it I know you'd rather not.
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