Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman

Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman

Summary

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Yates Pride: A Romance

She continued, and Harry Lawton continued, and they met.
Harry Lawton had known Eudora at once. She looked the same to him as when she had been a girl, and he looked the same to her when he spoke.
“Hullo, Eudora,” said Harry Lawton, in a ludicrously boyish fashion. His face flushed, too, like a boy. He extended his hand like a boy. The man, seen near at hand, was a boy. In reality he himself had not changed. A few layers of flesh and a change of color-cells do not make another man. He had always been a simple, sincere, friendly soul, beloved of men and women alike, and he was that now.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Yates Pride: A Romance

She did not expect to see a stout, middle-aged man, but a slim youth.
However, as they drew nearer each other, she knew; and curiously enough it was that swing of the tightly furled umbrella which gave her the clue. She knew Harry because of that. It was a little boyish trick which had survived time. It was too late for her to draw back, for he had seen her, and Eudora was keenly alive to the indignity of abruptly turning and scuttling away with the tail of her black silk swishing, her India shawl trailing, and the baby-carriage bumping over the furrows.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The Yates Pride: A Romance

A tiny, insistent cry came from a corner, and Lawton and Eudora turned toward it. There stood the old wooden cradle in which Eudora had been rocked to sleep, but over the clumsy hood Eudora had tacked a fall of rich old lace and a great bow of soft pink satin.
“He is waking up,” said the man, in a hushed, almost reverent voice.
Eudora nodded. She went toward the cradle, and the man followed. She lifted the curtain of lace, and there became visible little feebly waving pink arms and hands, like tentacles of love, and a little puckered pink face which was at once ugly and divinely beautiful.
Source: Gutenberg

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