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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Flyers"

"Oh, dear, where are we?"
"I don't know, but I feel as though we were about to step off of
something every moment. Do you know, Anne, it's extraordinary that I
shouldn't know how to light one of these confounded lanterns."
"Try it again, Harry dear. I'll hold the umbrella."
"Oh, I see! By Jove, one has to open the thing, don't you know. Ah,
there we are! That's better," he said, after he had succeeded in
finally lighting the wick. He held the lantern up close to her face
and they looked at each other for a moment. "Anne, I do love you!" he
exclaimed. Then he kissed her. "That's the first time I've had a
chance to kiss you in thirty-six hours."
They plodded onward, closer together than ever, coming at last to the
little gate which opened into the churchyard. Before them stood the
black little building with its steeple, but the windows were as dark
as Erebus. They stopped in consternation. He looked at his watch.
"Confound him, he's not here!" growled Windomshire.
"Perhaps we are early," suggested Anne, feebly.
"It's a quarter to nine," he said. "I suppose there is nothing left
for us to do but to wait.


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