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The Trumpeter Swan

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 1007    |    Released on: 30/11/2017

e of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy on the front seat with

on's thoughts upon her. He felt that her beauty must shine eve

se two young people, eager in their reunion. "Becky Bannister, whom I have known a

ou first and so did I. Until the last minute. Then I saw Jefferson driving by-I was down at the g

u. We are all to dine together to-night at your house, Randy, and when you meet me,

. "Becky, you are too good to be true; oh, yo

-American. Are you glad

her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand. He looked down at her,

u weren

ratch, wo

d the thing he liked. "You were," she said, simply,

"I am not sor

o lighter currents. "Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week. Yo

em came do

ng man who offe

the kind of man you'd like," said Randy, "but coming

ut of

as hot and

, and perhaps he

king excuse

even kn

ng little chap, never turned a hair, as cool

them was a buggy without a top. In the buggy were a man and a wo

if you can't overtake them, Jefferson.

Fiddle F

teaching school when the war broke out, and she married a man na

was a goo

ce. But she is very proud of him. And the baby

Jefferson, while

ired, ruddy, and wide of girth. "Well, well," he sai

e was Scotch-Irish blood in the Flippins, and Mary's charm was in that of duskiness of hair and

f you'll hand me that cor

her mother's blue eyes. She wore a little buttoned h

er a moist kiss, "you

ss

e you th

of saying Fidelit

ther young to

," Becky protested. "Your mother sa

"Oh, if you lis

rposed, "I've got a couple of prize hawgs-an' when you see the

Fat

nia's good enough for you to come

for me to stay in

re back

es

mighty glad

on Randy's knee like a very soft doll, s

the old days Mary had been a gay little thing, with an impertinent tongue.

lot," Randy said,

d. "Wouldn't any woman change if she had

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The Trumpeter Swan
The Trumpeter Swan
“She did not need a hat. It would have hidden her hair. George Dalton, watching her from the door, decided that he had never seen such hair, bronze, parted on the side, with a thick wave across the forehead, it shaded eyes which were clear wells of light.She was a little thing with a quality in her youth which made one think of the year at the spring, of the day at morn, of Botticelli's Simonetta, of Shelley's lark, of Wordsworth's daffodils, of Keats' Eve of St. Agnes-of all the lovely radiant things of which the poets of the world have sung-Of course Dalton did not think of her in quite that way. He knew something of Browning and little of Keats, but he had at least the wit to discern the rareness of her type.As for the rest, she wore faded blue, which melted into the blue of the mists, stubbed and shabby russet shoes and an air of absorption in her returned soldier. This absorption Dalton found himself subconsciously resenting. Following an instinctive urge, he emerged, therefore, from his chrysalis of ill-temper, and smiled upon a transformed universe.”