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A Kentucky Cardinal

Creator: Allen, James Lane, 1849-1925
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the ruins of Sylvia's flowers. The nigh was mystically beautiful. The moon seemed to me to be softly stealing down the sky to kiss Endymion. I looked across towards Georgiana's window. She was there, and I slipped over and stood under it. "Georgiana," I whispered, "were you, too, looking at the moon?" "Part of the time," she said, sourly. "Isn't it permitted?" "Sylvia left her scissors in the arbor, and _I_ can't find them." "_She'll_ find them to-morrow." "If they get wet, you know, they'll rust." "I keep something to take rust off." "Georgiana, I've got something to tell you about Sylvia." "What? That you kissed her?" "N--o! Not _that_, exactly!" "Good-night!"
A Set of Rogues

CHAPTER I. _Of my companions and our adversities, and in particular from our getting into the stocks at Tottenham Cross to our being robbed at Edmonton._ There being no plays to be acted at the "Red Bull," because of the Plague, and the players all cast adrift for want of employment, certain of us, to wit, Jack Dawson and his daughter Moll, Ned Herring, and myself, clubbed our monies together to buy a store of dresses, painted cloths, and the like, with a cart and horse to carry them, and thus provided set forth to travel the country and turn an honest penny, in those parts where the terror of pestilence had not yet turned men's stomachs against the pleasures of life. And here, at our setting out, let me show what kind of company we were. First, then, for our master, Jack Dawson, who on no occasion was to be given a second place; he was a hale, jolly fellow, who would eat a pound of beef for his breakfast (when he could get it), and make nothing of half a gallon of ale therewith,--a very masterful man, but kindly withal, and pleasant to
May 21st. Again I asked Georgiana to be mine. I am a perfect fool about her. But she's coming my way at last--God bless her! May 24th. I renewed my suit to Georgiana. May 27th. I besought Georgiana to hear me. May 28th. For the last time I offered my hand in marriage to the elder Miss Cobb. Now I am done with her forever. I am no fool. May 29th. Oh, _damn_ Mrs. Walters! XVI This morning, the 3d of June, I went out to pick the first dish of strawberries for my breakfast. As I was stooping down I heard a timid, playful voice at the window like the echo of a year ago: "Are you the gardener?"