"Right!" I said. "I'll do it."
I, Helen McGill, in the thirty-ninth year of my age!
CHAPTER THREE
"Well," I thought, "if I'm in for an adventure I may as well be spry
about it. Andrew'll be home by half-past twelve and if I'm going to
give him the slip I'd better get a start. I suppose he'll think I'm
crazy! He'll follow me, I guess. Well, he just shan't catch me,
that's all!" A kind of anger came over me to think that I'd been
living on that farm for nearly fifteen years--yes, sir, ever since
I was twenty-five--and hardly ever been away except for that trip
to Boston once a year to go shopping with cousin Edie. I'm a
home-keeping soul, I guess, and I love my kitchen and my preserve
cupboard and my linen closet as well as grandmother ever did, but
something in that blue October air and that crazy little red-bearded
man just tickled me.
"Look here, Mr. Parnassus," I said, "I guess I'm a fat old fool but
I just believe I'll do that. You hitch up your horse and van and
I'll go pack some clothes and write you a check.
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