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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"


He stood by the table, and it was, therefore, necessary that she
should approach him--should even stand quite near that she might
see clearly a sketch he made hastily--immediately afterwards tearing
it into fragments and burning it with a match. She was obliged
to stand so near him that her skirt brushed his trouser leg. His
nearness, and a vague scent of cigar smoke, mingled with the
suggestion of some masculine soap or essence, were so poignant
in their effect that she trembled and water rose in her eyes. In
fact--and despite her terrified effort to control it, a miserable
tear fell on her cheek and stood there because she dared not wipe
it away.
Because he realized, with annoyance, that she was trembling, he
cast a cold, inquiring glance at her and saw the tear. Then he
turned away and resumed his examination of her notes. He was not
here to make inquiries as to whether a sheep of a woman was crying
or had merely a cold in her head. "Ach!" grovelled poor Hirsch in
her secret soul,--his patrician control of outward expression and
his indifference to all small and paltry things! It was part,
not only of his aristocratic breeding, but of the splendour of
his military training.
It was his usual custom to leave her at once, when the necessary
formula had been gone through. Tonight--she scarcely dared to
believe it--he seemed to have some reason for slight delay.


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