Randall Parrish

Randall Parrish

Summary

Portrait of Randall Parrish Randall Parrish My Lady of Doubt

Claire, Claire, there has never been in my heart aught but love for you. As Lady of the Blended Rose, as daughter of a Colonel of Queen's Rangers, even in the disguise of a Dragoon, I have never questioned the depth of your womanhood. Once I guessed you a British spy, yet ceased not to love you. Am I to have my reward? You know little of me, as you say, but as an officer and a gentleman, I ask you to repeat again what you whispered to me once out yonder under the stars—do you remember, dear?
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Randall Parrish Randall Parrish My Lady of Doubt

Really they become tiresome with such foppery in war times. See how they play to-night, like children, the city practically unguarded from attack," she waved an ungloved hand toward the dark without. "I venture there are men out yonder, sir, who are not dancing and laughing away these hours."
My cheeks burned.
"You mean Washington's troops?"
"Aye! I saw them here in Philadelphia before Sir William came," her voice lowered, yet earnest, "and they are not playing at war; grim, silent, sober-faced men, dressed in odds and ends, not pretty to look at; some tattered and hungry, but they fight hard.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Randall Parrish Randall Parrish My Lady of Doubt

Hands clutched at us, gun butts were thrust into our faces, the crush too dense to permit of their being swung overhead. My Dragoons had their sabres out, and stood to it like men, the steel blades dripping as they tasted blood. But killing one only brought a new man to the front. One does not see so much as feel in such a jumble. Yet I knew we were worsted, outnumbered. They came at us like a battering ram. I saw the sergeant shot through the forehead; I saw Eric go down beneath a crushing stroke, and roll under my feet.
Source: Gutenberg

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