In Kedar's Tents by Henry Seton Merriman
page 107 of 309 (34%)
page 107 of 309 (34%)
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said Concha, folding his handkerchief upon his knee. He was deadly
poor, and had a theory that a folded handkerchief remains longer clean. His whole existence was an effort to do without those things that make life worth living. 'Why did you send for me?' he asked. 'But to advise me--to help me. I have been, all my life, cast upon the world alone. No one to help me--no one to understand. No one knows what I have suffered--my husband--' 'Was one of the best and most patient of mortals, and is assuredly in heaven, where I hope there are a few mansions reserved for men only.' Senora Barenna fetched one of her deepest sighs. She had a few lurking in the depth of her capacious being, reserved for such occasions as this. It was, it seemed, no more than her life had led her to expect. 'You have had,' went on her spiritual adviser, 'a life of ease and luxury, a husband who denied you nothing. You have never lost a child by death, which I understand is--one of the greatest sorrows that God sends to women. You are an ungrateful female.' Senora Barenna, whose face would have graced one of the very earliest of the martyrs, sat with folded hands waiting until the storm should pass. 'Do you wish me to see Julia?' asked Concha abruptly. |
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