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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Clarence"

We called it our rouge. I was almost tempted to try it again
when I found it just now. It took me back so to the old times."
Following her odd manner rather than her words, as she turned her face
towards him suddenly, Brant was inclined to think that she had tried it
already, so scarlet was her cheek. But it presently paled again under
his cold scrutiny.
"You must miss the old times," he said calmly. "I am afraid you found
very little of them left, except in these flowers."
"And hardly these," she said bitterly. "Your troops had found a way
through the marsh, and had trampled down the bushes."
Brant's brow clouded. He remembered that the brook, which had run red
during the fight, had lost itself in this marsh. It did not increase his
liking for this beautiful but blindly vicious animal at his side, and
even his momentary pity for her was fading fast. She was incorrigible.
They walked on for a few moments in silence.
"You said," she began at last, in a gentler and even hesitating voice,
"that your wife was a Southern woman."
He checked an irritated start with difficulty.
"I believe I did," he said coldly, as if he regretted it.
"And of course you taught her YOUR gospel,--the gospel according to
St.


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