The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1941-05-01

wants me. He can have me. He
can pay for me-
"Gillian!"
She turned from the window
to which, half angrily, she had
gone. and long yellow sun shaft
streamed suddenly in and burn
ished her ripping hair. Even so,
Anselm remembered, had her mo-
Their, Gillian Crandal, looked,
when long ago she had told An
selm Meade she loved his bro
Their. "What do you want to say
to me, Anse?"
81 want to ask you a question,
my dear. want you, for once,
not to laugh at me. Oh, I know
as well as you how we've got
by this last few years. Bills
mountains high, bills never paid.
I know all that. I know you can
end it by marriage with Jona-
than Hillyer, an eminently prac-
teal and desirable match. There
is only one thing. It brings me to
the question: do you love him?"
slow should I known" Gillian
hedged. Anyway, Anse, why
bring that up? Do you think it's
so important? How many mar
riages have it, after all, when the
first blush has worn off and he
begins to notice the eggs aren't
done right and the toast is burnt?"
"You're not answering me, Gil
liam, Poor old Anse, standing
there like a granadier and talk
ing like a convent girl Love
what had love to do with this?
'Is it so monstrous-nott to love
the man you marry? You look
like an accusing prophet, Anse.
You make me feel, almost, that
I'm about to commit a sin"
II don't mean to, Gillian" Anse
looked suddenly tired, looked all
of the sixty he admitted. cts
just that I don't want you to be
unhappy, don't want you to let
yourself in for anything just be-
cause you think the show has to
60 on and this is the only way
to keep it going"
She came over to him and
slipped her arm about his neck
and kissed him on the leathery
cheek. "You're pretty splendid,
Uncle. Don't want to see me sell
myself for filthy lucre. Don't wor-
ry. I've thought it all out. I've
been in love-I think that's what
you'd call ia number of times
Once, notably. You remember
Jaffry Clay, Anse? Everybody
does. Drank himself to death for
love of Gillian Meade, ruined his
young life, destroyed his youth
for woman who"
"Stop it," Anse shook her
roughly until the flaring nostrils,
the wide eyes, the distorted
mouth, the signs of hysteria, gave
way to serenity and repose. She
said, Sorry, Anse. It's the story,
you know. 1t makes a good story.
Some smart-alec journalist even
made capital of it because Jaffry
Clay was a poet. Was that love,
Anse? That was lie and cruel
ugly thing. I'll have no more of
that"
Ahead of Gillian, where the
bank sloped steeply down to the
mirror-smooth water, Rab was
barking and making an unerath4
ly din. A road, little more than a
track, led down to the shore from
the Kings highway. There was
an open car parked under an elm
and she heard a splashing in the
water. This was Meade water and
Meade ground and Anse was
pretty strict about trespassers.
He had gone to much pains to
have signs with mo Trespassing."
on them planted at strategic
points. This cove, where the Mea-
DIES had always swum, was one
Of the places. This young man had
hung his clothes on the sign. He
was padding about on his back,
gazing at his toes. He was a very
brown young man with dark
hair, short and still crisp despite
its wetness. When he saw Gillian