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Buck, Charles Neville, 1879-1930

"A Pagan of the Hills"

When I looks at ye I clean fergits every other star that ever
shone--because I've done seed _you_."
Once more Alexander began to feel that old uncertainty of reeling
senses. His intonations were caresses. His eyes were beacons, and she
took a tight hold on herself--for despite the hypnotic spell that he
was weaving about her, a voice within her cautioned, "Be steady!" That
indefinable ghost of suspicion stirred and troubled her.
"An' so sence I'm ther comet amongst them numerous small stars," she
observed with an even voice, though her pulse beat was far from
regular, "ye 'lows thet I'd ought ter belong ter _you_?"
He ignored the teasing brightness of her eyes; a light of defensive
disguise.
"I 'lows thet hevin' oncet seed ye, an' loved ye, I hain't nuver goin'
ter be satisfied with no lesser star."
The fire had leaped up and the room had grown warm. Halloway, in his
impetuous fashion, ripped off his coat, flinging it to the floor, and
stood with his great shoulders and chest bulking mightily beneath his
flannel shirt.
Under the hurricane sweep of his love-making the girl from time to time
closed her eyes in an effort to hold to her waning steadiness.


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