Give a
chap a chance, won't you? The tiresomest thing about you is the way
you leash up that dimple of yours. No, by George, there it is! Janie,
look at me----"
She touched the place where the leashed dimple had hidden with a
delicate and wondering finger--of all Jerry's gifts to her the most
miraculous had been that small fugitive. Exiled now, forever and
forever.
"Are you comin' down to White Orchards next week-end? I'm off for
France on the twelfth and you've simply got to meet my people.
You'll be insane about 'em--Rosemary's the most beguilin'
flibbertigibbet, and I can't wait to see you bein' a kind of an
elderly grandmother to her. What a bewitchin' little grandmother
you're goin' to be one of these days----"
Oh, Jerry! Oh, Jerry, Jerry! She twisted in her chair, her face
suddenly a small mask of incredulous terror. No, no, it wasn't true,
it wasn't true--never--never--never! And then, for the first time,
she heard it. Far off but clear, a fine and vibrant humming, the
distant music of wings! The faint, steady pulsing was drawing nearer
and nearer--nearer still--it must be flying quite high. The hateful
letters scattered about her as she sprang to the open window--no, it
was too high to see, and too dark, though the sky was powdered with
stars--but she could hear it clearly, hovering and throbbing like
some gigantic bird.
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