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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"

"One would think
the black stallions were lame."
"I suppose they want to keep out of our dust," said Em. "See, they stand
still as soon as we do."
Perceiving this to be the case, Gregory rode on.
"It's all that horse of yours: she kicks up such a confounded dust, I
can't stand it myself," he said.
Meanwhile the cart came on slowly enough.
"Take the reins," said Lyndall, and "and make them walk. I want to rest
and watch their hoofs today--not to be exhilarated; I am so tired."
She leaned back in her corner, and Waldo drove on slowly in the grey dawn
light along the level road. They passed the very milk-bush behind which so
many years before the old German had found the Kaffer woman. But their
thoughts were not with him that morning: they were the thoughts of the
young, that run out to meet the future, and labour in the present. At last
he touched her arm.
"What is it?"
"I feared you had gone to sleep and might be jolted out," he said; "you sat
so quietly."
"No; do not talk to me; I am not asleep;" but after a time she said
suddenly: "It must be a terrible thing to bring a human being into the
world."
Waldo looked round; she sat drawn into the corner, her blue cloud wound
tightly about her, and she still watched the horses' feet. Having no
comment to offer on her somewhat unexpected remark, he merely touched up
his horses.


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