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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"

I did not hear the music; I tried to catch
the sound of his voice each time he went by. When I was listening to the
music I did not know I was badly dressed; now I felt so ashamed of myself.
I never knew before what a low, horrible thing I was, dressed in tancord.
That day on the farm, when we sat on the ground under the thorn-trees, I
thought he quite belonged to me; now, I saw he was not mine. But he was
still as beautiful. His brown eyes are more beautiful than any one's eyes,
except yours.
"At last they turned to go, and I walked after them. When they got out of
the gate he helped the ladies into a phaeton, and stood for a moment with
his foot on the step talking to them. He had a little cane in his hand,
and an Italian greyhound ran after him. Just when they drove away one of
the ladies dropped her whip.
"'Pick it up, fellow,' she said; and when I brought it her she threw
sixpence on the ground. I might have gone back to the garden then; but I
did not want music; I wanted clothes, and to be fashionable and fine. I
felt that my hands were coarse, and that I was vulgar. I never tried to
see him again.
"I stayed in my situation four months after that, but I was not happy. I
had no rest. The people about me pressed on me, and made me dissatisfied.
I could not forget them. Even when I did not see them they pressed on me,
and made me miserable.


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