Long
before this hour something about Glenn's work had quickened her pulse and
given rise to an inexplicable admiration. That he was big and strong enough
to do such labor made her proud; that he might want to go on doing it made
her ponder and brood.
The morning resembled one of the rare Eastern days in June, when the air
appeared flooded by rich thick amber light. Only the sun here was hotter
and the shade cooler.
Carley took to the trail below where West Fork emptied its golden-green
waters into Oak Creek. The red walls seemed to dream and wait under the
blaze of the sun; the heat lay like a blanket over the still foliage; the
birds were quiet; only the murmuring stream broke the silence of the
canyon. Never had Carley felt more the isolation and solitude of Oak Creek
Canyon. Far indeed from the madding crowd! Only Carley's stubbornness kept
her from acknowledging the sense of peace that enveloped her--that and the
consciousness of her own discontent. What would it be like to come to this
canyon--to give up to its enchantments? That, like many another disturbing
thought, had to go unanswered, to be driven into the closed chambers of
Carley's mind, there to germinate subconsciously, and stalk forth some day
to overwhelm her.
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