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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Shuttle"

The moon was not
full, but young, and yet it would make a difference. But the upper part
of the hedge grew thick and close to the heap of wood, and, but for her
fall, she would never have dreamed of the refuge.
She could only guess at his movements, but his footsteps gave some clue.
He was examining the ground in as far as the darkness would allow. He
went into the shed and round about it, he opened the door of the tiny
coal lodge, and looked again into the small back kitchen. He came
near--nearer--so near once that, bending sidewise, she could have put
out a hand and touched him. He stood quite still, then made a step or so
away, stood still again, and burst into a laugh once more.
"Oh, you are here, are you?" he said. "You are a fine big girl to be
able to crowd yourself into a place like that!"
Hot and cold dew stood out on her forehead and made her hair damp as she
held her whip hard.
"Come out, my dear!" alluringly. "It is not too soon. Or do you prefer
that I should assist you?"
Her heart stood quite still--quite. He was standing by the wigwam of hop
poles and thought she had hidden herself inside it. Her place under the
hedge he had not even glanced at.
She knew he bent down and thrust his arm into the wigwam, for his fury
at the result expressed itself plainly enough.


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