The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. “Morning, Mom. . " On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly.
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