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Richmond, Grace S. (Grace Smith), 1866-1959

"The Twenty-Fourth of June"

She had
closed one of her blinds an hour before; she now made use of its
sheltering interstices. She saw Richard on a splendid black horse coming
up the drive, looking, as she had foreseen he would look, at home in the
saddle and at his best. She saw the colour in his cheeks, the brightness
in his eyes, caught his one quick glance upward--did he know her window?
He could not possibly see her, but she drew back, happiness and fear
fighting within her for the ascendency. Could she ever go down and face
him out there in the strong June light, where he could see every curving
hair of eyelash? note the slightest ebb and flow of blood in cheek?
Rosamond was calling: "Come, Rob! Mr. Kendrick is here and Joe is
bringing round the horses. Can I help you?"
Roberta opened her door. "I couldn't do my hair at all; does it look a
fright under this hat?"
Rosamond surveyed her. "Of course it doesn't. You're the most bewitching
thing I ever saw in that blue habit, and your hair is lovely, as it
always is. Rob, I have grown stout; I had to let out two bands before I
could get this on; it was made before I was married. Steve's been
laughing at me.


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