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Young, E. H. (Emily Hilda), 1880-1949

"The Bridge Dividing"


'I've offended you,' he said miserably. 'I make mistakes--somehow.
Nobody explains. I shall do it again.'
'You were rather rude,' Henrietta said. 'Why should you assume that I
squeak?'
'Sure to,' Charles said hopelessly, 'or gurgle. Look here, I'll teach
you myself, if you like.'
'I won't be bullied.'
'Then you'll never learn anything. Women are funny,' he said; 'but
then everybody is. Do you know, I haven't a single friend in the
world?'
'Why not?'
He shook his head. 'I don't know. I don't get on.'
'If it comes to that, I haven't a friend of my own age, either. And
you have a brother.'
'Ratting!' Charles said eloquently. 'You'll hear the noise.' He handed
her over to his father's care.
She was more than satisfied with her afternoon. She did not see John
Batty but she heard the noise; she was aware that Mr. Batty considered
her a delightful young person; she had sufficiently admired his
flowers and he presented her with a bunch of orchids. For Mrs. Batty
she felt an amused affection; she was interested in the unfortunate
Charles. She felt her life widening pleasantly and, as she crunched
again down the gravel drive, the orchids in her hand, she felt a
disinclination to go home. She wanted to walk under the great trees
which, spread with brilliant green, made a long avenue on the other
side of the road; to wander beyond them, where a belt of grass led to
a wild shrubbery overlooking the gorge at its lowest point.


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