Jack Ballington Forester
By John Trotwood Moore
28 Mar, 2019
Excerpt. . . . back half haughtily into the carriage, and a half-protesting look flash for an instant over the pretty face, profiled through the open space. She threw back her head in the old tribute-demanding way, and her half-closed lids veiled her
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Excerpt. . . . back half haughtily into the carriage, and a half-protesting look flash for an instant over the pretty face, profiled through the open space. She threw back her head in the old tribute-demanding way, and her half-closed lids veiled her eyes under great curving, brown-red brows. I caught a gleam of the old daring fun in them, as she smiled and held out both her hands, taking mine. "Awfully glad to see you, Jack—welcome home." My heart betrayed itself in the quick glance I gave her. She had developed so wonderfully in those four years. And how I had longed to see her! She sat smiling kindly into my eyes; I stood looking sillily into hers, holding both of her hands in mine, forgetful of Aunt Lucretia, and with no word that I could say to Eloise. "Eloise," I began haltingly at last, "is it—have you—is it really you?" I bent down to kiss her, bu. . . Less