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leaning on Macauley's arhtly

John watched her till she was lost in the throng on the veranda There, in

the lights, where waiters were arranging little tables, every one was

talking and ood-humored and happy There was a

flourish of violins, and then the orchestra swung into a rampant march

that pranced like uncurbed cavalry; it stirred the blood of old ht have heralded the

chariot of a fla out of sunrise, plu men on the verandaat the bit and heading a procession, and, frohter pealed

John Harkless lifted to his face the hand that had held hers; there was

the faint perfulove He kissed his own hand Then he put that

hand and the other to his forehead, and sank into her chair

"Let et back to Plattville, where I

belong"