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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

.. nothing
else ... just the Major. He is perfectly docile, kind and safe,
and--"
"--And drives equally well in single or double harness, I
suppose," laughed the girl, extending her hand and giving me the
slightest dip of her head and bend of her back in recognition, no
doubt, of my advancing years and dignified bearing--in apology,
too, perhaps, for her metaphor.
"In SINGLE--not double," rejoined Peter. "He's the sourest,
crabbedest old bachelor in the world--except myself."
Again her laugh bubbled out--a catching, spontaneous kind of
laugh, as if there were plenty more packed away behind her lips
ready to break loose whenever they found an opening.
"Then, Major, you shall have two lumps to sweeten you up," and
down went the sugar-tongs into the silver bowl.
Here young Breen leaned forward and lifted the bowl nearer to her
hand, while I waited for my cup. He had not left her side since
Miss Felicia had presented him, so Peter told me afterward. I had
evidently interrupted a conversation, for his eyes were still
fastened upon hers, drinking in her every word and movement.


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