"I say, give a fellow a bite."
By no catalogue of summarized details could this young woman have
laid claim to beauty, but in the flashing play of her expression,
the exquisite golden coloring, one could not evade the charm of a
certain warm witchery, of the passionate beat of innocent life.
The wonder of her lay in the sparkle of her inner self. Every
gleam of the deep true eyes, every impulsive motion of the slight
supple body, expressed some phase of her infinite variety. Her
flying moods swept her from demure to daring, from warm to cool.
And for all her sweet derision her friends knew a heart full of
pure, brave enthusiasms that would endure.
"I don't believe in indiscriminate charity," Jeff explained, and
he took another bite.
"Have you no sympathy for the deserving poor?" she pleaded.
"Besides, since you're a socialist, it isn't your apple any more
than it is mine. Bring my half up to me, sir."
"Your half is the half I've already eaten. And if you knew as much
as you pretend to about socialism you'd know it isn't yours until
you've earned it."
Her eyes danced. He noticed that beneath each of them was a
sprinkle of tiny powdered freckles.
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