Sucks books

The moon had risen as he pursued his lonely road and it shone clear
through a gathering scud that threatened soon to overwhelm the
silver light. Clouds flew fast and, above Brendon's head, telegraph
wires hummed the song of a gathering storm. The man's thoughts
proceeded as irregularly as the fitful and shouting wind. He weighed
each word that Jenny had said and strove to understand each look
that she had given him.
He tried to convince himself that Bendigo Redmayne's theory must,
after all, be false, and he assured himself that by no possibility
could the widow of Michael Pendean ever lose her sad heart to this
stranger from Italy. The idea was out of the question, for surely a
woman of such fine mould, so suddenly and tragically bereaved, would
never find in this handsome chatterbox, throbbing with egotism, any
solace for sorrow, or promise for future contentment. In theory his
view seemed sound. Yet he knew, even while he reflected, that love
in its season may shatter all theories and upset even the most
consistent of characters.


Pages:
123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147