The swamp roses, Gillie. It was the mare found them. She-if she hadn't run off-it was almost as if she meant me to see them."
"Are you saying? . . ."
"I don't know what I'm saying. Yes," she cried, a gay silliness taking her. Drunk with the music and the dancing, drunk with his closeness, she laughed up at him. It was just as in the stories, a kind of magic just like . . ." and then she stared at him, confounded. "Just like what?" "But in the stories . . ." "In the stories . . . what?" "In the stories . . ." "In the stories there's a prince," Gillie answered quietly. He held her away then. "So the story has come true.
"Are you saying? . . ."
"I don't know what I'm saying. Yes," she cried, a gay silliness taking her. Drunk with the music and the dancing, drunk with his closeness, she laughed up at him. It was just as in the stories, a kind of magic just like . . ." and then she stared at him, confounded. "Just like what?" "But in the stories . . ." "In the stories . . . what?" "In the stories . . ." "In the stories there's a prince," Gillie answered quietly. He held her away then. "So the story has come true.
( Shirley Rousseau Murphy )
[ Silver Woven In My Hair ]
www.QuoteSweet.com