"'Gad," he said to himself, "what manner of crank is he who would bury
himself like this? Of all the crazy ideas I ever--"
His reflections ended there. A woman crossed his vision; a woman
strolling slowly toward him through the intricate avenues of the
wildwood.
CHAPTER VII
SPUN-GOLD HAIR, BLUE EYES, AND VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS
She was quite unaware of his presence, and yet he was directly in her
path, though some distance away. Her head was bent; her mien was
thoughtful, her stride slow and aimless.
The azure blue of the sweater she wore presented an inharmonious note
on the field of velvety green;--it was strangely out of place, he
thought,--almost an offence to the eye. He was conscious of an instant
protest against this profanation.
She was slender, graceful and evidently quite tall, although she
seemed a pigmy among the towering giants that attended her stroll. Her
hands were thrust deep into the pockets of a white duck skirt. A
glance revealed white shoes and trim ankles in blue. She wore no hat.
Her hair was like spun gold, thick, wavy and shimmering in the subdued
light.
Suddenly she stopped, and looked up. He had a full view of her face as
she gazed about as if startled by some unexpected, even alarming,
sound.
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