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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944
31858063101376_028
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velope addressed to Doctor Harry Kenton, and mailed it in front of the apartment building. He got the yellow convertible out of its garage and drove off down the street. He cruised for an hour, lost in contemplation. Then he straightened purposefully behind the wheel, turned onto the highway, and accelerated the yellow convertible to the limit of its speed. Excitement began to flush Ward's cheeks a dull red. His eyes were squinted under the brim of the gray homburg, and tiny beads of moisture stood out on his forehead. The convertible roared onto the approach of a concrete bridge. A reckless smile twisted Ward's lips. He pulled the wheel hard over. That old, familiar pain a thousand-fold increased, stabbed into his left side. Ward was running, slipping, stumbling, but making rapid progress along a familiar road. Yet it was unfamiliar, for now the fields were bare and the road was muddy. Dirty snow lay in patches on the sodden ground, and under a leaden sky, the leafless poplars moaned in the grip of a winter wind. Snow streaked the lawn of the house at the end of the road. Lighted windows shone with a yellowish cheer, though the time was not later than early afternoon. Ward hastened up the slippery walk at the moment the slender girl came out of the door and bent over the wasted plant on the veranda. It was only a gaunt little skeleton, that plant, and evidently no longer contained even a vestige of life. Ward sprang upon the veranda, and the girl turned, with the potted plant in her hands. He stared at her for a long moment, a peculiar light glittering in his eyes. She was as beautiful as he had known she would be, and there was welcome in her full-lipped smile. "I was awfully stupid at first," he said apologetically, "but I came as soon as I...." Her smile, even on that wintry day, held the warmth of springtime and youth. "You must be cold," she said. "Won't you come into the house?" They stepped inside. He gently took the forlorn little plant from her hands and set it upon the floor. "You won't need to bother with that any more," he told her. "You can see it's done for." She laughed like a delighted child. "You know who I am, then?" He took her boldly in his arms and looked down into her warm, friendly eyes. He was happier than he had ever been. "Yes, I know. I'm not surprised. I've been waiting awfully long." Her lips parted. "You always suspected....?" He smiled. "That Death is a woman? Yes...." He broke off, bent his head and kissed her. The door of the house at the end of the road swung silently shut. FORSAKEN THINGS //// Norma Edmonds I love all forsaken things . . . The mirthless night wind's sigh, A gray wolf's chilling cry, A gaunt tree against the sky In the west . . . An old road that useless winds, A stark mongrel no one minds, A lost bird that never finds Its nest . . . I love all forsaken things. -- 24 --
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velope addressed to Doctor Harry Kenton, and mailed it in front of the apartment building. He got the yellow convertible out of its garage and drove off down the street. He cruised for an hour, lost in contemplation. Then he straightened purposefully behind the wheel, turned onto the highway, and accelerated the yellow convertible to the limit of its speed. Excitement began to flush Ward's cheeks a dull red. His eyes were squinted under the brim of the gray homburg, and tiny beads of moisture stood out on his forehead. The convertible roared onto the approach of a concrete bridge. A reckless smile twisted Ward's lips. He pulled the wheel hard over. That old, familiar pain a thousand-fold increased, stabbed into his left side. Ward was running, slipping, stumbling, but making rapid progress along a familiar road. Yet it was unfamiliar, for now the fields were bare and the road was muddy. Dirty snow lay in patches on the sodden ground, and under a leaden sky, the leafless poplars moaned in the grip of a winter wind. Snow streaked the lawn of the house at the end of the road. Lighted windows shone with a yellowish cheer, though the time was not later than early afternoon. Ward hastened up the slippery walk at the moment the slender girl came out of the door and bent over the wasted plant on the veranda. It was only a gaunt little skeleton, that plant, and evidently no longer contained even a vestige of life. Ward sprang upon the veranda, and the girl turned, with the potted plant in her hands. He stared at her for a long moment, a peculiar light glittering in his eyes. She was as beautiful as he had known she would be, and there was welcome in her full-lipped smile. "I was awfully stupid at first," he said apologetically, "but I came as soon as I...." Her smile, even on that wintry day, held the warmth of springtime and youth. "You must be cold," she said. "Won't you come into the house?" They stepped inside. He gently took the forlorn little plant from her hands and set it upon the floor. "You won't need to bother with that any more," he told her. "You can see it's done for." She laughed like a delighted child. "You know who I am, then?" He took her boldly in his arms and looked down into her warm, friendly eyes. He was happier than he had ever been. "Yes, I know. I'm not surprised. I've been waiting awfully long." Her lips parted. "You always suspected....?" He smiled. "That Death is a woman? Yes...." He broke off, bent his head and kissed her. The door of the house at the end of the road swung silently shut. FORSAKEN THINGS //// Norma Edmonds I love all forsaken things . . . The mirthless night wind's sigh, A gray wolf's chilling cry, A gaunt tree against the sky In the west . . . An old road that useless winds, A stark mongrel no one minds, A lost bird that never finds Its nest . . . I love all forsaken things. -- 24 --
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