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Updated: June 15, 2025
Through the wide-open, uncurtained windows the night was simply alive with stars, such swarms of them swinging and trembling up there; and, far away, rose the melancholy, velvet-soft hooting of an owl. Sylvia's voice, close to him, said: "Mark, that night when your star caught in my hair? Do you remember?" Yes, he remembered.
"Indeed, I think it more than probable," she returned; "for you dog me like a bailiff. I am cordially a-weary, Captain Audaine, of your incessant persecutions; and, after all, marrying you is perhaps the civilest way to be rid of both them and you." But by this I held each velvet-soft and tiny hand. "Nay," I dissented; "the subject is somewhat too sacred for jest.
The millions of pines and redwoods that covered the flanks of the mountains were absolutely still. No wind was stirring in their needles. But the chorus of tree-toads, dry, staccato, was as incessant as the pounding of the mill. Far-off thousands of miles, it seemed an owl was hooting, three velvet-soft notes at exact intervals.
This mood gave way to one far less philosophical he permitted himself a moment of exultation over his youth. Science had not yet taken out of him the nerves that leap to the touch of a woman's palm the right woman. Ten years' deep, patient, absorbing dissection of pathologic tissue had not rendered the gloss and glow of a girl's cheek less velvet-soft.
As he went about among them when they grazed, every horse he approached would raise his head and touch his face and arms with his nose. "O you dear horse!" Martin would exclaim, rubbing the warm, velvet-soft, sensitive nose with his hand. He soon discovered that they were just as fond of play as he was, and that he too was to take part in their games.
"I'm sorry that I can't take June away from here tomorrow," lamented Mrs. Reed. "There's something hidden in that woman's life!" Agnes had come out silently, as anyone must have come over that velvet-soft earth, which much trampling only made the softer. In the gloom she stood just behind Mrs. Reed.
Her nook, in an angle above the narrow path, was a grassy bank, looking across crumpled ranges velvet-soft in the level light to the still purity of the snows. "Rather nice, isn't it?" she said. "I'm not given to mooning out of doors; but I've spent several evenings here ... lately." "It's sanctuary," Roy murmured; but his sigh was tinged with apprehension.
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