Summary

Sydney C. Grier The Warden of the Marches

Georgia blushed like a girl. “That is really rather sweet,” she said. “Rahah despises the people round here too much to tell me anything they say about us.”
“Oh, Georgie,” cried Mabel, with sudden envy, “I would give anything to care for any one as you do for Dick! You look quite different when you talk about him. If only I wasn’t such a cold-hearted wretch! I wish I had cared for poor Mr Brendon, even; that would be better than caring for no one but myself.”
Source: Gutenberg

Sydney C. Grier The Warden of the Marches

But I don’t see what good it does to die many times before our deaths.”
“How horrid of you to call me a coward!” said Mabel pensively.
“I don’t call you anything of the sort. I think you must be fearfully brave to look at things in this detached, artistic kind of way, but what’s the good of it? Death must come when it will come, but naturally no one could be expected to look forward with pleasure to the mere fact of dying. Unless, of course”—Flora’s blue eyes shone as she turned suddenly from the general to the particular—“my dying would save papa or Fred. Then I should be glad to die.”
Source: Gutenberg

Sydney C. Grier The Warden of the Marches

We are safer here than in most places.”
“May God have mercy upon us all!” said Mr Hardy solemnly, as the ground began to rock so violently that they found it impossible to keep their feet. Half-kneeling, half-crouching, they waited. There was a moment of awful expectation, then a crash louder than any that had come before. To Mabel’s eyes, the dark line of wall visible above the roofs was slowly but surely descending upon them, and horror seemed to freeze her blood. Without knowing it, she seized Fitz’s hand, and clung to it desperately.
Source: Gutenberg

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