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Updated: May 15, 2025
Lenore accorded science its place in progress, but she hated its elimination of the soul. Stronger than ever, strength to endure and to trust pervaded her spirit. The dark night encompassing her, the vast, lonely heave of wheat-slope, the dim sky with its steady stars these were voices as well as tangible things of the universe, and she was in mysterious harmony with them.
Thirty-two horses!" she asserted, proudly. "No!" "Yes. Will you come? I will show you." "It is a temptation," he said, with a sigh. "But there are eyes there. They would break the spell." "Who's talking about eyes now?" she cried. They spent the remainder of that day on the windy wheat-slope, high up, alone, with the beauty and richness of "Many Waters" beneath them.
"I said no.... I've a heap of pride in what you've done. An' I sure think you're the best Anderson of the lot. That's all. Now kiss me an' go to bed." That explained how Lenore came to be alone, high up' on the vast wheat-slope, watching and feeling, with no more work to do. The slow climb there had proved to her how much she needed rest.
Two miles of soft green wheat-slope lay between Lenore and her home. She had needed the loneliness and silence and memory of a place she had not visited for many months. Winter had passed. Summer had come with its birds and flowers. The wheat-fields were again waving, beautiful, luxuriant. But life was not as it had been for Lenore Anderson. Kurt Dorn, private, mortally wounded!
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