Schoville screamed, thrusting her fingers into her ears.
"Madame," Baron Courbertin spoke up gravely, "it is a fact, a lamentable
fact, that the dogs of the north are responsible for more men's souls
than all other causes put together. Is it not so? I leave it to the
gentlemen."
Both Corliss and St. Vincent solemnly agreed, and proceeded to detonate
the lady by swapping heart-rending and apposite dog tales.
St. Vincent and the baron remained behind to take lunch with the Gold
Commissioner's wife, leaving Frona and Corliss to go down the hill
together. Silently consenting, as though to prolong the descent, they
swerved to the right, cutting transversely the myriad foot-paths and sled
roads which led down into the town. It was a mid-December day, clear and
cold; and the hesitant high-noon sun, having laboriously dragged its pale
orb up from behind the southern land-rim, balked at the great climb to
the zenith, and began its shamefaced slide back beneath the earth. Its
oblique rays refracted from the floating frost particles till the air was
filled with glittering jewel-dust--resplendent, blazing, flashing light
and fire, but cold as outer space.
They passed down through the scintillant, magical sheen, their moccasins
rhythmically crunching the snow and their breaths wreathing mysteriously
from their lips in sprayed opalescence.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159