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Dell, Ethel M. (Ethel May), 1881-1939

"The Top of the World"


"No, they are too pretty to kill. I love the hunt, but I hate the
kill. Besides, I shall be too busy. If I am going to be your
partner, one of us will have to do some work."
He laughed at that. "When do you want to begin?"
"Very soon," she said energetically. "Tomorrow if you like. I
don't think much of Brennerstadt, do you? It's such a barren sort
of place." He looked at her. "I believe you'll hate the winter on
the farm."
"No, I shan't. I shan't hate anything. I'm not so silly as to
expect paradise all the time."
"Is this paradise?" said Burke.
She glanced at him quickly. "No, I didn't say that. But I am
enjoying it. And," she flushed slightly, "I am very grateful to
you for making that possible."
"You've nothing to be grateful to me for," he said.
"Only I can't help it," said Sylvia.
Burke's eyes were scanning the far stretch of _veldt_ towards the
sinking sun, with a piercing intentness. She wondered what he was
looking for.
There fell a silence between them, and a vague feeling of
uneasiness began to grow up within her. His brown face was
granite-like in its immobility, but it was exceedingly grim.
Something stirred within her at last, impelling her to action. She
got up.
"Do you see that blasted tree right away over there with horrid
twisted arms that look as if they are trying to clutch at
something?"
His eyes came up to hers on the instant.


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