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Bindloss, Harold, 1866-1945

"Winston of the Prairie"

"
A flush of crimson suffused the girl's cheeks. "I never meant that,
and I can scarcely forgive you for fancying I did. Of course I could
trust you with--you have made me use the word--the dollars, but you
must realize that I could not do anything in public opposition to my
uncle's opinion."
Winston was sensible of a great relief, but it did not appear advisable
to show it. "There are so many things you apparently find it difficult
to forgive me--and we will let this one pass," he said. "Still, I
cannot help thinking that Colonel Barrington will have a good deal to
answer for."
Maud Barrington made no answer, but she was sensible of a respect which
appeared quite unwarranted for the dryly-spoken man, who, though she
guessed her words stung him now and then, bore them without wincing.
While she sat silent, shivering under her furs, darkness crept down.
The smoky cloud dropped lower, the horizon closed in as the gray
obscurity rolled up to meet them across a rapidly-narrowing strip of
snow. Then she could scarcely see the horses, and the muffled drumming
of their hoofs was lost in a doleful wail of wind. It also seemed to
her that the cold, which was already almost insupportable, suddenly
increased, as it not infrequently does in that country before the snow.
Then a white powder was whirled into her face, filling her eyes and
searing the skin, while the horses were plunging at a gallop through a
filmy haze, and Winston, whitened all over, leaned forward with lowered
head hurling hoarse encouragement at them.


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