[Labrea-users] Rstand it exactly. It isn't like the poetry I've been used to. There

[Platte <anc...@ar...>]

Ould get peach phosphate, "we can't stand this any longer. Let's get
into a carriage right away and go to the old fort; that can't have
changed much; it used to be dismantled, and I don't believe they've had
time, with all they've done here, to--to mantle it again." They moved
towards a cab-stand--of course it was an added grievance that there was
a cab-stand--but the wisdom of the prudent is to understand his way.
"Mary," said Lucy Eastman, detaining her, "wait a minute. Do you think
we might--it's a lovely day--and--there's a grocer right there--and
dinner is late at the hotel"--She checked her incoherence and looked
wistfully at Mary Leonard. "Lucy, I think we might do anything, if you
don't lose your mind first. What is it, for pity's sake, that you want
to do?" "Take our luncheon; we always used to, you know. And we can have
a hot dinner at the hotel when we come back." Without replying, Mary
Leonard led the way to the grocer's, and they bought lavish supplies
there and at the bakery opposite. Then they called the cab. "Do you
remember, Lucy, we used to have to think twice about calling a cab, when
we used to travel together, on account of the expense," said Mary
Leonard, as they waited for it to draw up at the curbstone. "Yes,"
answered Lucy; "we don't have to now." And then they both sighed a
little. But their smiles returned as they drove into the enclosure of
the old fort. There they lay in the peaceful sun--the gray stones, the
few cannon-balls, sunk in the caressing grass, with here and there a
rusty gun, like a once grim, sharp-tongued, cruel man who has fallen
somehow into an amiable senility. "I read an article in one of the
magazines about our coast defences,"