Summary

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories

At which, Sophy, the ice of restraint broken, again burst into passionate appeal. If she could only go away somewhere—where she saw no one but the people who would buy her work, who knew nothing of her past nor cared to know who were her relations! She would work hard; she knew she could support herself in time. She would keep the name he had given her,—it was not distinctive enough to challenge any inquiry,—but nothing more. She need not assume to be his niece; he would always be her kind friend, to whom she owed everything, even her miserable life.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories

Scraps of newspapers, soda-water and beer bottles, highly decorated old provision tins, and spent cartridge cases,—the remains of chilly picnics and damp shooting luncheons,—had at first sight lent color to the foreground by mere contrast, but the corrosion of time and weather had blackened rather than mellowed the walls in a way which forcibly reminded the consul of Miss Elsie's simile of the “burnt-down factory.” The view from the square tower—a mere roost for unclean sea-fowl, from the sides of which rags of peeling moss and vine hung like tattered clothing—was equally depressing.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Bret Harte Bret Harte A Protegee of Jack Hamlin's, and Other Stories

Every fibre of her vast but fragile bulk quivered under the goad of her powerful engines. There was no other movement but hers, no other sound but this monstrous beat and panting; the whole tranquil landscape seemed to breathe and pulsate with her; dwellers in the tules, miles away, heard and felt her as she passed, and it seemed to Jack, leaning over the railing, as if the whole river swept like a sluice through her paddle-boxes.
Source: Gutenberg

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature