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Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958

"Dangerous Days"


"It doesn't look like you. That's sure."
"I hurried out. It's not so bad when it's tidy."
He threw up the window, and stood there a moment. The spring air
was cool and clean, and there was a sound of tramping feet below.
He looked down. The railway station was near-by, and marching
toward it, with the long swing of regulars, a company of soldiers
was moving rapidly. The night, the absence of drums or music, the
businesslike rapidity of their progress, held him there, looking
down. He turned around. Anna had slipped off her coat, and had
opened the collar of her blouse. Her neck gleamed white and young.
She smiled at him.
"I guess I'll be going," he stammered.
"Going!"
"I only wanted to see how you are fixed." His eyes evaded hers.
"I'll see you again in a day or two. I - "
He could not tell her the thoughts that were surging in him. The
country was at war. Those fellows below there were already in it,
of it. And here in this sordid room, he had meant to take her,
not because he loved her, but because she offered herself.


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