"I'm going to make a cup of coffee for our sentinel, and have a little chat
with him, chaperoned by the great bonfire. Don't think you can stop me, for
you can't. Heavens, what a noise that dynamite does make! We shall have to
shout. It will be more than proper. Good night, darling."
CHAPTER VII
I
Gora Dwight with a quick turn of a strong and supple wrist flung a folding
chair up through the trap door of the roof. She followed with a pitcher of
water, opened the chair, and sat down.
It was the second day of the fire, which was now raging in the valleys
north of Market Street and up the hills. It was still some distance from
all but the lower end of Van Ness Avenue, the wide street that divides the
eastern and western sections of the city, as Market Street divides the
northern and southern, and her own home on Geary Street was beyond Franklin
and safe for the present. It was expected that the fire would be halted
by dynamiting the blocks east of the avenue, but as it had already leapt
across not far from Market Street and was running out toward the Mission,
Gora pinned her faith in nothing less than a change of wind.
Life has many disparate schools. The one attended by Miss Gora Dwight had
taught her to hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and be thankful
if she escaped (to use the homely phrase; one rarely found leisure for
originality in this particular school) by the skin of her teeth.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74