Читать книгу The Saint of the Speedway онлайн

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She was still standing in the open doorway gazing out into the grey light of the dying fall day whence she had passed her “God-speed” to the man who had executed his mission with so much obvious goodwill and pleasure.

Had the girl possessed half the woman’s vanity to which she was entitled, she might have understood something of the ungainly man’s feelings in visiting her home. But Claire had not as yet discovered in herself that dormant self-appreciation which is so essentially an expression of all human nature. She had learned little or nothing from the faithful, if inadequate, mirror in her small lean-to sleeping quarters. Her wide blue eyes were simply a feature with which to witness the wonders of the world about her, just as her mass of ruddy hair was a something to brush laboriously and to fret over. Her slim, girlish figure she had only learned to deplore in the arduous labours which her life entailed, and its effect upon the men with whom she came into contact concerned her not at all. As yet her woman’s charm was a negative factor in her life.