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Cramming her oil-stained overall into her haversack, she put on her leather coat and went up to the garage. The sun had disappeared. A cold wind struck the silk-clad ankles. "Come in," she said in English, lifting her head and all her mind and spirit out of the pit of the pillow. Feet came further into the room and a shivering child held a candle in her face. "Halb sechs, Fraeulein," it said.
While they waited for the bondwomen to restore to the hampers the crystal goblets and gold-fringed napkins that even in the wood wastes must minister to such delicate lips, one merry little lady was launching fleets of beech-nut rinds down the stream; another, armed with a rush-spear, was making bold attack on the slumbers of some woodland creature which she had spied out basking on the sunny side of a stump; and in the centre of the open, the Lady Elfgiva was amusing herself with the treasures of red and gold leaves which silk-clad pages were bringing from the thicket.
I again got the sense of danger from the tall, lithe figure that stood in the moonlight, radiant before us in the shadow. "We'll contest that point warmly while we contest the meeting house Charlotte writes me that you planted in our garden of Eden." "I can contest if I must," was the serene answer that came back at us from over the white silk-clad shoulder.
A smile twitched Martie's sober mouth as she thought of Rose's congratulations. Rose would give her a linen shower, with delicious damp little sandwiches, and maple mousse, or a dainty luncheon with silk-clad, flushed women laughing about the table. And Martie would join the club be its president, some day Meanwhile, once more she must wait. A woman's life was largely waiting.
Do you understand it? I suppose not. Men have no nerves, like women. They are brave always. I have not said what I feel. I have heard of you the most wonderful shot in Central Africa. I believe it now." Kingozi's eyes were lingering on her silk-clad form, the peep of ankles below her robe. She observed him with slanted eyes, and a little breath of satisfaction raised her bosom. Abruptly he spoke.
Tita colours warmly; her generous soul shrinks from such an accusation. "I didn't mean that," says she; "you know very well I didn't. I wish," petulantly, "you would go away; I want to read." "Well, I'm going," says Rylton. As a means of carrying out this promise, he props himself up with a branch of the tree on which she is sitting a branch on a level with her dainty little silk-clad feet.
The lights in house windows gleamed through drawn shades, except in one house, where he could see quite distinctly a woman seated beside a lamp with a green shade, sewing, with regular motions of a red, silk-clad arm. Von Rosen strained his eyes, and saw, as he thought, a dark bulk advancing far down the street. He watched and watched, then noted that the dark bulk had not moved.
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