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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"White Lies"


"He seemed to be dragging himself along." This was the first word
Josephine had spoken for some time. "Oh, did he?" replied Rose
carelessly; "well, let him. Here we are, at home."
"I am glad of it," said Josephine, "very glad."
On reaching Beaurepaire she wanted to go up-stairs at once and put on
her gray gown. But the day was so delightful that Rose begged her to
stroll in the Pleasaunce for half an hour and watch for their mother's
return. She consented in an absent way, and presently began to walk very
fast, unconscious of her companion. Rose laid a hand upon her playfully
to moderate her, and found her skin burning.
"Why, what is the matter?" said she, anxiously.
"Nothing, nothing," was the sharp reply.
"There's a fretful tone; and how excited you look, and feel too. Well, I
thought you were unnaturally calm after such an event."
"I only saw his back," said Josephine. "Did not you see him?"
"See who? Oh, that tiresome officer. Why, how much more are we to hear
about him? I don't believe there WAS one."
At this moment a cocked hat came in sight, bobbing up and down above
the palings that divided the park from the road.


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