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Excerpt from The Californians
I won't study another word to-day Helena tipped the table, spilling the books to the ¿oor. I want to go out in the sun. GO home, Miss Phelps, that 's a dear. Anyhow, it won't do you a bit Of good to stay.
Miss Phelps, young herself, glanced angrily at her briery charge, longingly at the brilliant blue of sky and bay beyond the long window.
I leave it to Miss Yorba. Her voice, fashioned to cut, vibrated a little with the vigour of its roots. You seem to forget, Miss Belmont, that this is not your house.
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