Macaria
Augusta J Evans
Macaria
Augusta J Evans
The book begins: The town clock was on the last stroke of twelve, the solitary candle measured about two inches from its socket, and as the summer wind rushed through the half-closed shutters, the melted tallow dripped slowly into the brightly-burnished brazen candlestick. The flickering light fell upon grim battalions of figures marshaled on the long, blue-lined pages of a ledger, and flashed fitfully in the face of the accountant, as he bent over his work. In these latter days of physical degeneration, such athletic frames as his are rarely seen among the youth of our land. Sixteen years’ growth had given him unusual height and remarkable breadth of chest, and it was difficult to realize that the stature of manhood had been attained by a mere boy in years.
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