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Flint, Homer Eon, 1892-1924

"The Emancipatrix"

There was not a cupful
remaining. She eyed it seriously as she got to her feet.
Another look back at that flat expanse of granite, which had so
gradually and so mysteriously changed from precipice to plain, and Rolla
strode on with renewed vigor and interest. Presently she was able to
make out something of a different color in the distance, and soon was
near enough to see some bona-fide bushes; a low, flowerless shrub, it is
true, but at least it was a living thing.
Shortly the undergrowth became dense enough to make it somewhat of an
effort to get through. And before long she was noticing all manner of
small creatures, from bugs to an occasional wandering bird. These last,
especially, uttered an abrupt but cheerful chirp which helped
considerably to raise her spirits. It was all too easy to see, in her
fancy, her lover helpless and suffering in the power of those cold-
blooded, merciless insects.
In an hour or two she reached the head of a small stream. Hurrying down
its banks as rapidly as its undergrowth would permit, Rolla followed its
course as it bent, winding and twisting, in the direction which had
always been north to her, but which the sun plainly labeled "south."
Certainly the sun mounted steadily toward the zenith, passing
successively through the positions corresponding to four, three and two
o'clock, in a manner absolutely baffling.


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