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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"Summer"


"I'm so sorry, dear... that this should have happened...."
She threw her head back proudly. "I ain't ever been sorry--not a
minute!"
"No."
She waited to be caught into his arms, but he turned away from
her irresolutely. The last glow was gone from behind the Mountain.
Everything in the room had turned grey and indistinct, and an autumnal
dampness crept up from the hollow below the orchard, laying its cold
touch on their flushed faces. Harney walked the length of the room, and
then turned back and sat down at the table.
"Come," he said imperiously.
She sat down beside him, and he untied the string about the package and
spread out a pile of sandwiches.
"I stole them from the love-feast at Hamblin," he said with a laugh,
pushing them over to her. She laughed too, and took one, and began to
eat.
"Didn't you make the tea?"
"No," she said. "I forgot----"
"Oh, well--it's too late to boil the water now." He said nothing more,
and sitting opposite to each other they went on silently eating the
sandwiches.


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