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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"Summer"

Day by day the flame of
the Virginia creeper spread to the hillsides in wider waves of carmine
and crimson, the larches glowed like the thin yellow halo about a fire,
the maples blazed and smouldered, and the black hemlocks turned to
indigo against the incandescence of the forest.
The nights were cold, with a dry glitter of stars so high up that they
seemed smaller and more vivid. Sometimes, as Charity lay sleepless on
her bed through the long hours, she felt as though she were bound to
those wheeling fires and swinging with them around the great black
vault. At night she planned many things... it was then she wrote to
Harney. But the letters were never put on paper, for she did not know
how to express what she wanted to tell him. So she waited. Since her
talk with Ally she had felt sure that Harney was engaged to Annabel
Balch, and that the process of "settling things" would involve the
breaking of this tie. Her first rage of jealousy over, she felt no fear
on this score. She was still sure that Harney would come back, and she
was equally sure that, for the moment at least, it was she whom he loved
and not Miss Balch.


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