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Various

"The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story"


They passed into the building, silently, like old friends.
A stupid indisposition housed me for a little after Lockerbie's feast. I
resented the discomfort of temporary illness, but rather liked being
alone, and told Joe to refuse me to callers--even the Mauers, who were
more like friends and neighbors than any one else in the place. My own
affairs should not obtrude on this tale at all; and I will not go into
them more than to say that I came to the end of my dosing and emerged
upon the world after three days. The foolish thought came to me that I
would have a look at French Eva's hair, of which little Morlot had
spoken in such gallant hiccoughs.
The lady was not upon her veranda, nor yet in her poultry-yard, as I
paced past her dwelling. I had got nearly by, when I heard myself
addressed from the unglazed window.
"Monsieur!"
I strolled back, wondering if at last I should be invited to hear the
gramophone--her chiefest treasure. The mass of hair spread out of the
crude opening in the bamboo wall, for all the world like Rapunzel's. I
faced a great curtain of black. Then hands appeared and made a rift in
it, and a face showed in the loose black frame.
"Monsieur, what is the German for 'cochon'?"
My German is scanty, and I reflected. "'Schweinhund' will do, I think,"
I answered after consideration.


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