E-Books for you

Sophie burned it
all in the Orpheus and Eurydice grate, and kept her own counsel.
"What I want to know," said George, when Spring was coming, and
the gardens needed thought. "is who will ever pay me for my
labour? I've put in at least half a million dollars' worth
already."
"Sure you're not taking too much out of yourself?" his wife
asked.
"Oh, no; I haven't been conscious of myself all winter." He
looked at his brown English gaiters and smiled. "It's all behind
me now. I believe I could sit down and think of all that--those
months before we sailed."
"Don't--ah, don't!" she cried.
"But I must go back one day. You don't want to keep me out of
business always--or do you?" He ended with a nervous laugh.
Sophie sighed as she drew her own ground-ash (of old Iggulden's
cutting) from the hall rack.
"Aren't you overdoing it too? You look a little tired," he said.
"You make me tired. I'm going to Rocketts to see Mrs. Cloke about
Mary." (This was the sister of the telegraphist, promoted to be
sewing-maid at Pardons.


Pages:
44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68