The train sauntered its asthmatic way into another village depot.It was a local the last thirty miles or so before its
destination,a little country town whose only reason for
existence was the college on a wooded hill.
Sam glanced up from his paperback to read the name on
the station.He had glanced up thus at every stop,and each
time he had not failed to take another look at the glinting
crown oI amber hair showing above the dull green of the
seat in front of him.Its wide natural wave was like the path
of a breeze across a wheat field. 1
About the three girls on the other side of the aisle he had
little curiosity.Two were mere types,he had decided when
he first took his place near them and heard their conversation.
“This year is going to be a blast,”declared one in a
rapturous strident key.“I m going to see that it is.I spent too
much time on books last winter,I don’t plan to do that
again.Eat,drink and be merry,I say.I ve stashed away a
tair rating with the profs and I don’t intend to worry any
more.”The girl got out a little gilt—edged comb andⅡmirror
and worked with long,slender,practiced fingers on her ash
brown slinky hair.
Her seat mate gave her a superior look.
“Have it your way,Pinky,I do intend to,”she retorted.She
was slim,long—legged and long—eyelashed,with sandal—
wood hair combed back slickly into a twist.
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