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Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

"Springhaven : a Tale of the Great War"

Oh
yes, it is damp. But let me cure it thus."
For Dolly, growing anxious about his meaning, yet ready to think about
another proposal, was desirous to sit down on the sweet ledge of grass,
yet uneasy about her pale blue sarsenet, and uncertain that she had not
seen something of a little sea-snail (living in a yellow house, dadoed
with red), whom to crush would be a cruel act to her dainty fabric. But
if he was there, he was sat upon unavenged; for Carne, pulling off his
light buff cloak, flung it on the seat; after which the young lady could
scarcely be rude enough not to sit.
"Oh, I am so sorry now! Perhaps it will be spoiled," she said; "for
you say that the fates are against you always. And I am sure that they
always combine against me, when I wear anything of that colour."
"I am going the wrong way to work," thought Carne. "What a little vixen
it is; but what a beauty!" For his love for her was chiefly a man's
admiration. And bodily she looked worthy now of all that could be done
in that way, with the light flowing in through the budded arch and
flashing upon the sweet flush of her cheeks. Carne gazed at her without
a word or thought, simply admiring, as he never had admired anything,
except himself, till now. Then she felt all the meaning of his gaze, and
turned away.
"But you must look at me and tell me something," he said, in a low
voice, and taking both her hands; "you shall tell me what my fate must
be.


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