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Webster, Henry Kitchell, 1875-1932

"The Real Adventure"

There had
been more than blank helpless exasperation in that look of his, and it
had taught her something. She couldn't have explained what.
To the half-back she attributed it to the month of March. "You're
ridiculous, I'm ridiculous, he's ridiculous." That was about as well as
she could put it.
She and the half-back had walked about a hundred yards in silence. Now
they were arriving at a point where the path forked.
"You're elegant company this morning, I must say," he commented
resentfully.
Again she smiled. "I'm elegant company for myself," she said, and held
out her hand. "Which way do _you_ go?" she asked.
A minute later she was swinging along alone, her shoulders back,
confronting the warm March wind, drawing into her good deep chest, long
breaths. She had just had, psychically speaking, a birthday.
She played a wonderful game of basket-ball that afternoon.


CHAPTER II
BEGINNING AN ADVENTURE

It was after five o'clock when, at the conclusion of the game and a cold
shower, a rub and a somewhat casual resumption of her clothes, she
emerged from the gymnasium.


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