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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"The Crusade of the Excelsior"

And that frank,
clear-eyed girl--Miss Keene!--she who had seemed to vaguely pity
him--she was somewhere here too--selected by the irony of fate to be his
confederate! He could not help thinking of her beauty and kindness now,
with a vague curiosity that was half an uneasiness. It had not struck
him before, but if he were to accept the ridiculous attitude forced upon
him by Todos Santos, its absurdity, as well as its responsibility, would
become less odious by sharing it with another. Perhaps it might be
to HER advantage--and if so, would he be justified in exposing its
absurdity? He would have to see her first--and if he did, how would he
explain his real position? A returning wave of bitterness threw him back
into his old despair.
The twilight had slowly gathered over the view as he gazed--or, rather
a luminous concentration above the pueblo and bay had left the outer
circle of fog denser and darker. Emboldened by the apparent desertion of
the Embarcadero, he began to retrace his steps down the slope, keeping
close to the wall so as to avoid passing before the church again, or a
closer contact with the gardener among the vines. In this way he reached
the path he had skirted the night before, and stopped almost under
the shadow of the Alcalde's house.


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