Excerpt from Southern Hearts
Aunt Rose, the Old-time cook, exercised her skill to please her epicure master, or tempt the less robust appetite of her young mis tress.
Mrs. Meeks stood at this moment in the middle of the sitting-room, her arms clasped over a broom, and her dark eyes gazing upon the floor in front of her. But her meditations had nothing to do with the rug where the broom rested, nor yet with the sun-lit slope of the Blue Ridges that extended in all their wealth of autumn beauty in front of the Open windows.
She was thinking of Mr. Meeks. He had just left the house, and as not infrequently happened, had left the sting of Sharp words behind him. Yet, not exactly sharp, either. Overbearing, dogmatical words, not intention ally cutting ones, for that was not the nature of the man; but words that, said in his tone of command, bore heavily upon sensitive feel ings.
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