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Thackeray, William Makepeace, 1811-1863

"The Best British Short Stories of 1922"


"I don't know," she answered. "I think a room with little beds, and
wooden bars across the window, and a high fender would be a pretty
room."
"We have been busy making such a room as that," he said. "There's a
wall paper with pigs and chickens and huntsmen on it. But go on."
"There were iron bars to the window of my cell. He was very strong and
tore them out with his hands as he stood up on the saddle of his horse.
We rode into Florence as dawn broke, and the sun was an angry red;
while we rode his arm was around me and my head upon his shoulder. He
spoke in my ear and his voice trembled for love of me. We had thrown
away the raiment of the sisterhood to which I had belonged, and as I
lay across the saddle I was wrapped in a cloak as crimson as the sun."
"Been reading Tennyson, little lady?" asked the man.
She did not understand, and went on: "It was a palace to which he
brought me, bright with gold, mosaic and fine hangings that dazzled my
eyes after the grey they had been used to look upon. There were many
servants and richly clad friends, who frightened me with their laughter
and the boldness of their looks.


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