The Touchstone by Edith Wharton
page 74 of 112 (66%)
page 74 of 112 (66%)
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and the lamplight fell on the deep roll of hair that overhung her
brow like the eaves of a temple. Her face had often the high secluded look of a shrine; and it was this touch of awe in her beauty that now made him feel himself on the brink of sacrilege. Lest the feeling should dominate him, he spoke at once. "I've brought you a piece of work--a lot of old bills and things that I want you to sort for me. Some are not worth keeping--but you'll be able to judge of that. There may be a letter or two among them--nothing of much account, but I don't like to throw away the whole lot without having them looked over and I haven't time to do it myself." He held out the papers and she took them with a smile that seemed to recognize in the service he asked the tacit intention of making amends for the incident of the previous day. "Are you sure I shall know which to keep?" "Oh, quite sure," he answered, easily--"and besides, none are of much importance." The next morning he invented an excuse for leaving the house without seeing her, and when he returned, just before dinner, he found a visitor's hat and stick in the hall. The visitor was Flamel, who was in the act of taking leave. He had risen, but Alexa remained seated; and their attitude gave the impression of a colloquy that had prolonged itself beyond the limits of speech. Both turned a surprised eye on Glennard and he |
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