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Brand, Max, 1892-1944

"Trailin'!"

"
He would not answer, sure of himself; waiting, tingling with enjoyment.
As he expected, she said: "Go on; is the other reason as good as that
one?"
Making his expression grim, he leaned suddenly forward, and though the
width of the room separated them, she drew back a little, as though the
shadow of his coming cast a forewarning shade across her. He heard her
breath catch, and as if some impalpable and joyous spirit rushed to meet
and mingle with his, something from her, a spirit as warm as the fire,
as faintly, keenly sweet as an air from a night-dark, unseen garden
blowing in his face.
"The other reason is you, Sally Fortune. You can't go with me as far as
I must go; and I can't leave you behind."
Ah, there it was! He had fumbled at the keys of the organ in the dark;
he had spread his fingers amply and pressed down; behold, back from the
cathedral lofts echoed a rising music of surpassing beauty. Like the
organist, he sank back again in the shadow and wondered at the phrase of
melody. Surely he had not created it? Then what? God, perhaps. For her
lips parted to a smile that was suggested rather than seen, a tender,
womanly sweetness that played about her mouth; and a light came in her
eyes that would never wholly die from them.


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