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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"Summer"

No one else could have done it."
Charity made no answer: She did not care what part her guardian played
in the morrow's ceremonies. Like all the other figures peopling her
meagre world he had grown non-existent to her. She had even put off
hating him.
"Tomorrow I shall only see you from far off," Harney continued. "But in
the evening there'll be the dance in the Town Hall. Do you want me to
promise not to dance with any other girl?"
Any other girl? Were there any others? She had forgotten even that
peril, so enclosed did he and she seem in their secret world. Her heart
gave a frightened jerk.
"Yes, promise."
He laughed and took her in his arms. "You goose--not even if they're
hideous?"
He pushed the hair from her forehead, bending her face back, as his way
was, and leaning over so that his head loomed black between her eyes and
the paleness of the sky, in which the white star floated...
Side by side they sped back along the dark wood-road to the village. A
late moon was rising, full orbed and fiery, turning the mountain ranges
from fluid gray to a massive blackness, and making the upper sky so
light that the stars looked as faint as their own reflections in water.


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