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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

"
Careless or oblivious of her stony silence and starting eyes, he
attempted to take her hand. But she disengaged herself with a quick
movement, drew back, and suddenly crouched like a wild animal about to
spring. Curson folded his arms as she leaped to her feet; the little
dagger she had drawn from her garter flashed menacingly in the air, but
she stopped.
The man before her remained erect, impassive, and silent; the great
trees around and beyond her remained erect, impassive, and silent;
there was no sound in the dim aisles but the quick panting of her mad
passion, no movement in the calm, motionless shadow but the trembling
of her uplifted steel. Her arm bent and slowly sank, her fingers
relaxed, the knife fell from her hand.
"That'th quite enough for a thow," he said, with a return to his former
cynical ease and a perceptible tone of relief in his voice. "It'th the
thame old Teretha. Well, then, if you won't go with me, go without me;
take the led horthe and cut away. Dick Athley and Petereth will follow
you over the county line.


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