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The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Village Ophelia and Other Stories by Anne Reeve Aldrich This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: A Village Ophelia and Other Stories Author: Anne Reeve Aldrich Release Date: February 8, 2005 [EBook #14978] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A VILLAGE OPHELIA AND OTHER *** Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Amy Cunningham and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team. [Transcriber's Note: Some words which appear to be typos are printed thus in the original book. A list of these possible misprints follows: enthuiasms fragant increduously insistance trival] A VILLAGE OPHELIA BY ANNE REEVE ALDRICH NEW YORK: _W. Dillingham Co., Publishers_, MDCCCXCIX. CONTENTS A VILLAGE OPHELIA A STORY OF THE VERE DE VERE A LAMENTABLE COMEDY AN AFRICAN DISCOVERY AN EVENING WITH CALLENDER A VILLAGE OPHELIA On the East end of Long Island, from Riverhead to Greenport, a distance of about thirty miles, two country roads run parallel. The North road is very near the Sound and away from the villages; lonely farm-houses are scattered at long intervals; in some places their number increases enough to form a little desolate settlement, but there is never a shop, nor sign of village life. That, one must seek on the South road, with its small hamlets, to which the "North roaders," as they are somewhat condescendingly called, drive across to church, or to make purchases. It was on the North road that I spent a golden August in the home of Mrs. Libby. Her small gray house was lovingly empaled about the front and sides by snow-ball bushes and magenta French-lilacs, that grew tenderly close to the weather-worn shingles, and back of one sunburnt field, as far as the eye could see, stretched the expanse of dark, shining scrub-oaks, beyond which, one knew, was the hot, blue glitter of the Sound. Mrs. Libby was a large iron-gray widow of sixty, insatiably greedy of such fleshly comforts as had ever come within her knowledge--soft cushions, heavily sweetened dishes, finer clothing than her neighbors. She had cold eyes, and nature had formed her mouth and jaw l
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