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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Beth Norvell A Romance of the West"

The girl
was not crying, although one of her hands was held across her eyes, and
her bosom rose and fell tumultuously to labored breathing. She stood
silent, motionless, the strange radiance causing her to appear unreal,
some divinely moulded statue, an artist's dream carven in colored
stone. Suddenly she sprang backward from out that revealing tongue of
light and crouched low at the angle of the house, not unlike some
affrighted wild animal, her head bent forward intently listening.
There was a plainly perceptible movement in the gloom, the sound of an
approaching footstep and of rapid breathing, and finally a shadow
became visible. The watcher leaped to her feet half angrily.
"Ah! so eet vas you, senorita!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her
emotion,--"you, who come so dis night. _Sapristi_! vy you follow me
dis vay? By all de saints, I make you tell me dat! You vant him, too?
You vant rob me of all thing?"
The visitor, startled by this sudden challenge, stood before her
trembling from head to foot with the nervous excitement of her journey,
yet her eyes remained darkly resolute.


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