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Summer | Edith Wharton | |
Chapter III |
Page 3 of 4 |
The question, breaking in on her mood of blissful abstraction, deprived her of speech, and she stared at him for a moment without answering. "Who says I ain't?" "There's been some complaints made, it appears. Miss Hatchard sent for me this morning----" Charity's smouldering resentment broke into a blaze. "I know! Orma Fry, and that toad of a Targatt girl and Ben Fry, like as not. He's going round with her. The low-down sneaks--I always knew they'd try to have me out! As if anybody ever came to the library, anyhow!" "Somebody did yesterday, and you weren't there." "Yesterday?" she laughed at her happy recollection. "At what time wasn't I there yesterday, I'd like to know?" "Round about four o'clock." Charity was silent. She had been so steeped in the dreamy remembrance of young Harney's visit that she had forgotten having deserted her post as soon as he had left the library. "Who came at four o'clock?" "Miss Hatchard did." "Miss Hatchard? Why, she ain't ever been near the place since she's been lame. She couldn't get up the steps if she tried." "She can be helped up, I guess. She was yesterday, anyhow, by the young fellow that's staying with her. He found you there, I understand, earlier in the afternoon; and he went back and told Miss Hatchard the books were in bad shape and needed attending to. She got excited, and had herself wheeled straight round; and when she got there the place was locked. So she sent for me, and told me about that, and about the other complaints. She claims you've neglected things, and that she's going to get a trained librarian." |
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Summer Edith Wharton |
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