San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1925-11-30
Sandy byE 1c1oorcM
Sandy, Disappointed and
Disguised, Wants to
Run Away.
CHAPTER IS

thread to the light. "This i;
the shade, Mrs. March"
Mrs. March, a squatty
little woman who looked
like a beetle and wore glass
es on the end of her nose
came from behind the coun-
ter. She surveyed Sandy.
A wave of color flew into
sandy's pale cheeks. Why was thai
woman staring at her?
@My, you're looking lovely, Mrs.
Burillo. You do wear lavender
something beautiful.
Sandy laughed, caught glimpse
of herself in the mirror with the big,
droopy hat, the sport frock of orchid.
She pushed the hair at her ears. Her
hands we're freezing, her. neck on
fire.
Of course she looked lovely! Did
any one need to, stare at her and
comment about it?
She walked rapidly up the block.
But she stopped whenever she caught
her reflection in the store windows.
She glanced with stealthy, agonized
intensity at these images.
An old hot dialogue went on in he-
mind. Its not so. OF course it's
mott"
"Oh, don't be such a fool! You
know it's sol"
But what will I do? God, what
CAN ! do?''
Face it. You'll face it."
"I1l not face it I won't. won't :"
She tore along as though she would
fly out Of her own body. This in.
credible thing happening to her! No
other people were cowed by life. But
she was so slim, so tall, so very
breezy and do as you please! She
was that gay, light hearted Sandy Nc.
Neil who snapped her fingers with an
impudent laugh and dared anyone to
high-hat her. Let life shake its old
gray fingers-she'd get by!
And even now she tried to fling
back her head. She said hundred
times day as though her scared,
piteous denial was going to alter the
fact: "No--it's not so. God-don't
let it belts not ~
\ 1t was evening, early in September.
Clouds sdrifted like silver flowers
across the mountain tops. They kept
drifting and drifting, new ones bloom
ing as the first ones were lost. All
along they drifted, music in the blue
lanes of the sky. The sky was blue
and clear like that last April-that
Sunday of the picnic, and she had
come running out this gate giggling to
have made the sneak so cleverly.
She pushed the rusty hinge, went in
quietly and sat hidden in the shrubs.
Then she took off her hat, shaking
back the red, shiny hair. She thought
of her bridal night, standing here with
Jimmy, fitting her face backward for
him to kiss. She belonged to herself
then.
Then she thought Of that walled-in
garden and Murillo coming upon her,
leading her back, the moon floating
in golden mist. Why hadn't she
run away then before it was too late
why hadn't she flown-no matter
where?
But no, she had gone back like
weak, puny hearted thing! She de-
served this. She thought in a fury
of resentful stiffness. "Don't stamp
your feet now! it won't do any good!
No good to scream; it's true!"
Every time she said "it's true"
things went clashing wild in her
thoughts. Strike out her hands, beat
off these closing walls. Strike out
and get ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.
She could have hurled herself on
the ground and given up to uncon-
trollable sobbing. Nothing could equal
the poisonous bitterness or her self
reproaches. If she had only known
il she had only thought-if she had
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