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Four Phases Of Love: A Short Story Collection Classic By Paul Heyse!
Four Phases Of Love: A Short Story Collection Classic By Paul Heyse!
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Excerpt:
At the open window, which looked out into the little flower-garden, stood the blind daughter of the village sacristan, refreshing herself in the cool breeze that swept across her hot cheeks; her delicate, half-developed form trembled, her cold little hands lay folded in each other upon the window-sill. The sun had already set, and the night-flowers were beginning to scent the air.
Further within the room sat a blind boy on a stool, at the old spinet, playing wild melodies. He might have been about fifteen years old--only, perhaps, a year older than the girl. Whoever had heard and seen him, now throwing up his large eyes, and now turning his head towards the window, would never have suspected his privation--so much energy, and even impetuosity, lay in his every movement.
Suddenly he broke off in the midst of a religious hymn, which he seemed to have altered wildly after his own fancy.
"You sighed!" he said, turning his face towards her.
"I! No, Clement--why should I sigh? I only shrank together as the wind blew in so strongly!"
"But you did sigh. Do you think that I did not hear it as I played?--and I feel even here how you are trembling."
"Yes; it has grown so cold."
At the open window, which looked out into the little flower-garden, stood the blind daughter of the village sacristan, refreshing herself in the cool breeze that swept across her hot cheeks; her delicate, half-developed form trembled, her cold little hands lay folded in each other upon the window-sill. The sun had already set, and the night-flowers were beginning to scent the air.
Further within the room sat a blind boy on a stool, at the old spinet, playing wild melodies. He might have been about fifteen years old--only, perhaps, a year older than the girl. Whoever had heard and seen him, now throwing up his large eyes, and now turning his head towards the window, would never have suspected his privation--so much energy, and even impetuosity, lay in his every movement.
Suddenly he broke off in the midst of a religious hymn, which he seemed to have altered wildly after his own fancy.
"You sighed!" he said, turning his face towards her.
"I! No, Clement--why should I sigh? I only shrank together as the wind blew in so strongly!"
"But you did sigh. Do you think that I did not hear it as I played?--and I feel even here how you are trembling."
"Yes; it has grown so cold."
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