Perhaps he didn't
know, himself.
After the train had gone, Doctor Geddes hustled us into his waiting
car.
"I'm going to take you for a quiet spin in the country, to make the
better acquaintance of Madame Spring-in-Carolina," he said. A few
minutes later he swung the car into a lonesome and lovely road edged
with pines, and sassafras, and sumach, and cassena bushes, and
festooned with vines. Madame Spring-in-Carolina had coaxed the green
things to come out and grow, and the people of the sky to try their
jeweled wings in her fine new sunlight. The Judas-tree was red, the
dogwood white, the honey-locust a breath from Eden. A blossomy wind
came out of the heart of the world, and there were birds everywhere,
impudently eloquent.
We didn't want to talk, or even to think; we just wanted to be alive
and glad with everything else. The very car seemed to feel something
of this intoxication, for as it went flying down the road it hummed
and purred and sang snatches of the Song of Speed to itself. We
turned a corner, I remember. And then there was a frightful lurch
and jar, and the big car bounded into the air, and turned over in
the ditch.
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