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Fuller, Henry Blake, 1857-1929

"Bertram Cope's Year"

They were going the same way, to substantially the same place, to
meet about the same hour in the day's schedule. They went along the street
together.
The morning air was brisk and cool after last night's shower. Like the
trees under which they passed, it gave the first decided intimation of
autumn. They set off at a lively pace toward the college towers and the
lake.
Cope was soon sailing along with his head high, his trim square shoulders
much in action, and his feet throwing themselves spiritedly here and there.
Amy, who was not very tall, kept up as well as she could.
"This isn't too fast for you...?" she asked presently.
"No; but it may be a little too fast for you. Excuse me; I've never learned
to keep pace with a woman. But as for myself, I never felt better in my
life. Every yard toward the good old lake"--the wind was coming down from
the north in a great sweep--"makes me feel finer."
He slowed up appreciably.
"Oh, not for me!" she said in deprecation. "I like a brisk morning walk as
well as anybody. Did you sing at all?" she asked.
"Not a note. They put the soft pedal on me.


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