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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Maruja"


He, on his side, retreated again into the wheat, holding it back
with extended arms to let her pass. As she moved forward
mechanically, without a word he moved backward, making a path for
her until she was able to discern the coachman's whip above the
bending heads of the grain just beyond her. He stopped here and
drew to one side, his arms still extended, to give her free
passage. She tried to speak, but could only bow her head, and
slipped by him with a strange feeling--suggested by his attitude--
that she was evading his embrace. But the next moment his arms
were lowered, the grain closed around him, and he was lost to her
view. She reached the carriage almost unperceived by the inmates,
and pounced upon her sister with a laugh.
"Blessed Virgin!" said Amita, "where did you come from?"
"From there!" said Maruja, with a slight nervous shiver, pointing
to the clustering grain.
"We were afraid you were lost."
"So was I," said Maruja, raising her pretty lashes heavenwards, as
she drew a shawl tightly round her shoulders.
"Has anything happened. You look strange," said Carroll, drawing
closer to her.
Here eyes were sparkling, but she was very pale.
"Nothing, nothing!" she said, hastily, glancing at the grain again.
"If it were not that the haste would have been absolutely indecent,
I should say that the late Doctor had made you a ghostly visit,"
said Raymond, looking at her curiously.
"He would have been polite enough not to have commented on my
looks," said Maruja.


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