I saw her the other day. She came to
school after Donald. I liked her looks so well that I said to
myself: 'Everybody talks about how fine she is. I shouldn't
wonder if I had better save her for Peter'; but if I decide to,
you should act that poison stuff out, because it's sure as
shooting to attack any one with the soft, delicate skin that goes
with a golden head."
"Oh, let's leave it in," said Peter, "and dispense with the
golden head. By the time you get that stream planted as you're
planning, I'll have become so accustomed to a dark head bobbing
up and down beside it that I won't take kindly to a sorrel top."
"That is positively sacrilegious," said Linda, lifting her hands
to her rough black hair. "Never in my life saw anything lovelier
than the rich gold on Louise Whiting's bare head as she bent to
release her brakes and start her car. A black head looks like a
cinder bed beside it; and only think what a sunburst it will be
when Mary Louise kneels down beside the iris."
When they had finished their supper Linda gathered up the
remnants and put them in the car, then she laid a notebook and
pencil on the table.
"Now I want to hear that article," she said. "I knew you would
do it over the minute I was gone, and I knew you would keep it to
read to me before you sent it."
"Hm," said Peter. "Is it second sight or psychoanalysis or
telepathy, or what?"
"Mostly 'what'," laughed Linda. "I merely knew.
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