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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"A Story of the Western Crisis"


Dick flushed. Few people had ever spoken to him in such a manner,
and it was hard to remember that she was a woman.
"I heard a footstep in the hall, and it was my duty to see who was
passing," he said.
"I have prepared food and I am taking it to my father. He would not
accept it from Yankee hands."
"Colonel Woodville sups late. I should think a wounded man would be
asleep at this hour, if he could."
She gave him a glance full of venom.
"What does it matter?" she said.
Dick refused to be insulted.
"Let me take the tray for you," he said, "at least to the door. Your
father need not know that my hands have touched it."
She shrank back and her eyes blazed.
"Let us alone!" she exclaimed. "Go back to your room! Isn't it
sufficient that this house shelters you?"
She seemed to Dick to show a heat and hate out of all proportion to the
occasion, but he did not repeat the offer.
"I meant well," he said, "but, since you do not care for my help, I'll
return to my room and go to sleep. Believe me, I'm sincere when I say I
hope your father will recover quickly from his wound.


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