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----- {{mountp013.png}} || mountain blood ||


lips, they had subsided into an unintelligible mutter,
and had been glad to escape.

He became an habitual sight, riding a blooded
mare through the valley, over lonely trails, and was
finally accepted as a recognized local institution.
His title and exotic garb, the grim quality of his
manhood, his austere disregard for bodily welfare,
his unmistakable courage -- more than any other
human quality extolled throughout Greenstream --
became a cause of prideful boasting in the County.

Gordon Makimmon had known Lettice Hollidew,
now speaking in little, girlish rushes behind him,
since her first appearance in a baby carriage, nineteen
or twenty years back. He had watched her
without particular interest, the daughter of the richest
man in Greenstream, grow out of sturdy, barelegged
childhood into the girl he had now for five
years been driving, in early summer and fall, to and
from the boarding school at Stenton.

She was, he had noted, reserved. Other schoolgirls,
in their passages from their scattered upland
homes, were eager to share Gordon's seat by the
whip; and, with affected giggling, or ringing bursts
of merriment, essayed to drive the wise, heedless
mountain horses. But Lettice Hollidew had always
shrunk from the prominent place on the stage; there
was neither banter nor invitation in her tones as she
greeted him at the outset of their repeated trips,


[[13]]

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