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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

When she was not at work, she was brooding in her
room, or she would walk down to Uncle Billy's and sit at the mill
with him while the old man would talk in tender helplessness, or
under the honeysuckle vines with old Hon, whose brusque kindness
was of as little avail. And then, still silent, she would get
wearily up and as quietly go away while the two old friends,
worried to the heart, followed her sadly with their eyes. At other
times she was brooding in her room or sitting in her garden, where
she was now, and where she found most comfort--the garden that
Hale had planted for her-where purple asters leaned against lilac
shrubs that would flower for the first time the coming spring;
where a late rose bloomed, and marigolds drooped, and great
sunflowers nodded and giant castor-plants stretched out their
hands of Christ, And while June thus waited the passing of the
days, many things became clear to her: for the grim finger of
reality had torn the veil from her eyes and let her see herself
but little changed, at the depths, by contact with John Male's
world, as she now saw him but little changed, at the depths, by
contact with hers.


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