General Armour, looking down, saw a
sentence in it which, he felt, warranted him in picking it up, reading
it, and retaining it, his face settling into painful lines as he did so.
Days afterwards, Lali read her father's letter to Mrs. Armour. It ran:
My daughter,
Lali, the sweet noise of the Spring:
Thy father speaks.
I have seen more than half a hundred moons come like the sickle and
go like the eye of a running buck, swelling with fire, but I hear
not thy voice at my tent door since the first one came and went.
Thou art gone.
Thy face was like the sun on running water; thy hand hung on thy
wrists like the ear of a young deer; thy foot was as soft on the
grass as the rain on a child's cheek; thy words were like snow in
summer, which melts in richness on the hot earth. Thy bow and arrow
hang lonely upon the wall, and thy empty cup is beside the pot.
Thou art gone.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102