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by Pasceri 23 Mar '10

23 Mar '10

Lgirl." The velvet night was attuned to the rhythm of her love. She felt herself, in this sea of moon romance, being swept from her moorings. Star-eyed, she gazed at him while she still fought again his dominance. "You ARE uncivilized. Would you beat me when I didn't obey?" she asked tremulously. He laughed in slow contentment. "Perhaps; but I'd love you while I did it." "Oh, you would love me." She looked across under her long lashes, not as boldly as she would have liked, and her gaze fell before his. "I haven t heard before that that was in the compact you proposed. I don't think you have remembered to mention it." He swung from the saddle and put a hand to her bridle rein. "Get down," he ordered. "Why?" "Because I say so. Get down." She looked down at him, a man out of a thousand and for her one out of a hundred million. Before she was conscious of willing it she stood beside him. He trailed the reins of the ponies, and in two strides came back to her. "What--do you--want?" "I want you, girl." His arm swept round her, and he held her while he looked down into her shining eyes. "So I haven't told you that I love you. Did you need to be told?" "We must go on," she murmured weakly. "Frances and Lieutenant O'Connor--" "--Have their own love-affairs to attend to. "We'll manage ours and not intrude." "They might think--" He laughed in deep delight, "--that we love each other. They're welcome to the thought. I haven't told you that I love you, eh? I tell you now. It's my last trump, and right here I table it. I'm no desert poet, but I love you from that dark crown of yours to those little feet that tap the floor so impatient sometimes. I love you all the time, no matter what mood you're in--when you flash dark angry eyes at me and when you laugh in that slow, understanding way nobody else in God's world has the trick of. Makes no difference to me whether you're glad or mad, I want you just the same. That's the reason why I'm going to make you love me." "You can't do it." Her voice was very low and not quite steady. "

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by Littleton 21 Mar '10

21 Mar '10

T rid of that ice you've been making. You're racing dogs, not ice plants." They pawed the ice from their eyes, and thawed it out from between their toes with their warm tongues. And "Scotty," too, was obliged to remove the ice from his lashes before he could be sure of his bearings. "Now then," as they had divested themselves of their glistening coats, "the worst is over, and off we go." At times the hard smooth trail wound like a silver ribbon under the pale glow of the Aurora. Then, with flying feet, they sped along the edge of deep gorges, up steep slopes, and over the glare ice of rivers and lakes. But the distance between them and the other teams was now gradually lessening, and at Timber Road House they had made up half of the time lost in Candle. Here they had the next "big sleep," lying on clean straw on the floor beside Allan, whose closeness calmed their nerves. It was a great comfort to be able to place a paw on him, or sociably lick his hand--for they felt that all was well if they were but within reach of their master's touch. They awoke full of renewed energy. "Scotty" was harnessing them for the last long run, with the help of his brother Bill, and Paul Kegsted, who had charge of that relay s

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by Mercado 20 Mar '10

20 Mar '10

Acular--" "I know all that. Don't mind." "You knew it?" For the first time she looked at him, but she turned her eyes away at once and stared at the oblong of dark framed by the window. "Why--" "Spaulding told me to-night only." "Mother told me a week or so ago. She'd been recognized. Shortly after I married, when she found out how the women played bridge and poker here, she made me promise I'd never touch a card, never play any sort of gambling game. I promised readily enough, and I thought nothing of her insistence. Maman was old-fashioned in many ways--I mean the life we lived in. Rouen was so different from this that I could understand how many things would shock her. I never thought about it--but--it was about six months ago--you were away for a week and I stayed with Polly Roberts at the Fairmont. I knew of course that she played and that Aileen and a lot of the others did, but I hadn't given the matter a thought. One heard nothing but bridge, bridge, bridge. I was sick of the word. "But I found they played poker. Polly and Aileen, Alice Thorndyke, Janet Maynard, Mary Kimball, Nick Doremus, Rex and one or two other men who could get off in the afternoons. "I never had dreamed any one in society played for such high stakes. Janet Maynard and Mary Kimball could afford it, but Polly and Alice and Aileen couldn't. Still they often won--enough, anyhow, to clean up and go on. Doremus is a wonderful player. That is how I got interested, watching him after he had explained the game to me. "It was a long time before I was persuaded to take a hand. It was so interesting just to watch. And not only the game, but their faces. Some would have a regular 'poker face,' others would give themselves away. Once Aileen had the most awful hysterics. We were afraid some one outside would hear her; the deadening was burnt out of the walls of the Fairmont at the time of the fire. But we were in the middle room of the suite. "Nick told her in his dreadful cold expressionless voice that if she ever did that again he'd never play another game with her. That meant that they'd all drop her, a

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by Haylock 19 Mar '10

19 Mar '10

Three months ago I told Norah. It was not news to her. But she trusted me." I felt my face to be as white and as tense as his own. "Norah--knows!" "It is better to speak these things. Then there need be no shifting of the eyes, no evasive words, no tricks, no subterfuge." We had faced about and were retracing our steps, past the rows of peculiarly home-like houses that line Milwaukee's magnificent lake shore. Windows were hung with holiday scarlet and holly, and here and there a face was visible at a window, looking out at the man and woman walking swiftly along the wind-swept heights that rose far above the lake. A wretched revolt seized me as I gazed at the substantial comfort of those normal, happy homes. "Why did you tell me! What good can that do? At least we were make-believe friends before. Suppose I were to tell you that I care, then what." "I do not ask you to tell me," Von Gerhard replied, quietly. "You need not. You know. You knew long, long ago. You know I love the big quietness of you, and your sureness, and the German way you have of twisting your sentences about, and the steady grip of your great firm hands, and the rareness of your laugh, and the simplicity of you. Why I love the very cleanliness of your ruddy skin, and the way your hair grows away from your forehead, and your walk, and your voice and--Oh, what is the use of it all?" "Just this, Dawn. The light of day sweetens all things. We have dragged this thing out into the sunlight, where, if it grows, it will grow sanely and healthily. It was but an ugly, distorted, unsightly thing, sending out pale unhealthy shoots in the dark, unwholesome cellars of our inner con

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05 Mar '10

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