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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"The Puppet Crown"


"O, Bull," she whispered, "and you and I shall soon be all alone!"
A few doves fluttered about her; the hills flamed beneath the
chill September sky, the waters sang and laughed, but she saw
not nor heard.


CHAPTER XIX

A CHANCE RIDE IN THE NIGHT
Maurice, who had wisely slept the larger part of the day, and
amused himself at solitary billiards until dinner, came out on
the terrace to smoke his after-dinner cigar. He watched the sun
as, like a ball of rusted brass, it slid down behind the hills,
leaving the glowing embers of a smoldering day on the hilltops.
The vermilion deepened into charred umber, and soon the west was
a blackened grate; another day vanished in ashes. The filmy
golden pallor of twilight now blurred the landscape; the wind
increased with a gayer, madder, keener touch; the lake went
billowing in shadows of gray and black, and one by one the lamps
of the city sprang up, vivid as sparks from an anvil. Now and
again the thin, clear music of the band drifted across from the
park. The fountain glimmered in the Platz, the cafes began to
glitter, carriages rolled hither and thither.


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