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Updated: June 5, 2025
"You don't call your santers real tramps, do you? Why folks is as thick as ticks up here, though they don't knock elbows like what they do where you cum from. They don't holler out ter 'tract yer attention, neither. But they're here." "Let's hear more of Burke Lawson." Truedale gripped him from the seething mass of humanity portrayed by White, as the one promising most colour and interest.
From his place he had been watching Truedale, for the firelight had betrayed the truth. Truedale had not been sleeping: Truedale had been terribly upset by that last letter of his! And just then Conning leaned forward and threw his entire mail upon the blazing logs! For Truedale to await, calmly, further developments was out of the question.
In this state of mind Truedale devoted himself to business, and Lynda, with a fresh power that surprised even herself, resumed her own tasks. "And this is love," she often thought to herself, "it is the real thing. Some women think they have love when love has them. This beautiful, tangible something that is making even these days sacred has proved itself. I can rely upon it lean heavily upon it."
"Bring little Ann to the fire;" she said, "I'm going to order some lunch, and then we can decide, Nella-Rose." Nella-Rose obeyed, dumbly. She was completely under the control of the only person, who, in this perplexed and care-filled hour, seemed able to guide and guard her. Lynda watched the two eat of the food Thomas brought in. There was no fear of Truedale coming now.
He meant to pay every cent he had borrowed to secure, by some position that would supply the bare necessities of life, time and opportunity for developing the talent he secretly believed was his. He was prepared, once loose from obligation to old William Truedale, to starve and prove his faith. And then his breakdown had come!
Roads would be obliterated and human beings would seek shelter wherever they could find it. But Truedale was spared the worry this knowledge might have brought him. He concentrated now upon the present and grimly accepted conditions as they were.
Her shoulders rose and fell convulsively, and Truedale, looking at her, became hopelessly wretched. "I'm a beast and nothing less!" he admitted by way of apology and excuse. "I I wish you could forgive me." Then slowly the head was raised and to Truedale's further consternation he saw that mirth, not anguish, had caused the shaking of those deceiving little shoulders. "Oh! I see you are laughing!"
At last she settled upon seeking the shelter of old Lois Ann, in Devil-may-come Hollow, and turned in that direction. It was eight o'clock then and Truedale, with his books and papers on the table before him, declared: "I am quite all right now," and fell to work upon the manuscript that earlier had engrossed him.
Truedale selected the restaurant, arranged for the flowers, and then grew so rigidly quiet and pale that Lynda declared that the summer in town had all but killed him and insisted that he take a vacation. "We haven't had our annual honeymoon trip, Con," she pleaded; "let's take it now." "We'll we'll go, Lyn, just before Christmas." "Not much!" Lynda tossed her head.
Truedale was never so much at his ease as when he presided at these small dinners. He ate little; he chose the rarest bits for his guest; he talked lightly sometimes delightfully. At such moments Lynda realized what he must have been before love and health failed him.
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