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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"The Story of a Mine"

The--er--the--er--expressions you have quoted are not
common to Boston, but emanate, I believe, from the West."
Carmen de Haro contritely buried everything but her black eyes in her
shawl.
"No one," he continued, more gently, sitting down again, "has the right
to forecast from my past what I intend to do in the future, or designate
the means I may choose to serve the principles I hold or the party I
represent. Those are MY functions. At the same time, should occasion--or
opportunity--for we are within a day or two of the close of the
Session--"
"Yes," interrupted Carmen, sadly, "I see,--it will be some business,
some claim, something for somebody,--ah! Madre de Dios,--you will not
speak, and I--"
"When do you think of returning?" asked the Senator, with grave
politeness; "when are we to lose you?"
"I shall stay to the last,--to the end of the Session," said Carmen.
"And NOW I shall go." She got up and pulled her shawl viciously over her
shoulders, with a pretty pettishness, perhaps the most feminine thing
she had done that evening.


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