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The Mettle of the Pasture by James Lane Allen
page 51 of 303 (16%)
front gate under the lamp-post, saying to herself:

"He is late."

At last the gate was gently opened and gently shut.

"Ah," she cried, leaning back in her chair smiling and satisfied.
Then she sat up rigid. A change passed over her such as comes over
a bird of prey when it draws its feathers in flat against its body
to lessen friction in the swoop. She unconsciously closed the
little fan, the little handkerchief disappeared somewhere.

As the gate had opened and closed, on the bricks of the pavement
was heard only the tap of his stout walking-stick; for he was gouty
and wore loose low shoes of the softest calfskin, and these made no
noise except the slurring sound of slippers.

Once he stopped, and planting his cane far out in the grass,
reached stiffly over and with undisguised ejaculations of
discomfort snipped off a piece of heliotrope in one of the tubs of
oleander. He shook away the raindrops and drew it through his
buttonhole, and she could hear his low "Ah! ah! ah!" as he thrust
his nose down into it.

"There's nothing like it," he said aloud as though he had
consenting listeners, "it outsmells creation."

He stopped at another tub of flowers where a humming-bird moth was
gathering honey and jabbed his stick sharply at it, taking care
that the stick did not reach perilously near.
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