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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"


"They?" she repeated.
"Yes," he continued calmly. "The Botanical Society I correspond with
are more particular than the Government Survey."
"Then you are doing this for a society?" demanded Teresa, with a stare.
"Certainly. I'm making a collection and classification of specimens. I
intend--but what are you looking at?"
Teresa had suddenly turned away. Putting his hand lightly on her
shoulder, the young man brought her face to face with him again. She
was laughing.
"I thought all the while it was for a girl," she said; "and"--But here
the mere effort of speech sent her off into an audible and genuine
outburst of laughter. It was the first time he had seen her even smile
other than bitterly. Characteristically unconscious of any humor in her
error, he remained unembarrassed. But he could not help noticing a
change in the expression of her face, her voice, and even her
intonation. It seemed as if that fit of laughter had loosed the last
ties that bound her to a self-imposed character, had swept away the
last barrier between her and her healthier nature, had dispossessed a
painful unreality, and relieved the morbid tension of a purely nervous
attitude.


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