St. Cecilia

1536 Words

St. Cecilia. “Over her gray and velvet dress, Under her molten, beaten hair, Color of rose in mock distress Flushes and fades and makes her fair; Fills the air from her to him With light and languor and little sighs, Just so subtly he scarcely knows … Laughing lightning, color of rose.” “Do you like me?” “Of course I do,” said Clara seriously. “Why?” “Well, we have some qualities in common. Things that are spontaneous in each of us—or were originally.” “You’re implying that I haven’t used myself very well?” Clara hesitated. “Well, I can’t judge. A man, of course, has to go through a lot more, and I’ve been sheltered.” “Oh, don’t stall, please, Clara,” Amory interrupted; “but do talk about me a little, won’t you?” “Surely, I’d adore to.” She didn’t smile. “That’s sweet of

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