The Novels And Stories Of Frank R Stockton The Girl At Cobhurst

But as none of these suited her very well, she preferred to fall back upon chaotic anticipation. "When I think of Cobhurst," she wrote to her brother, "I smell marigolds, and think of rather poor blackberries that you pick from bushes. Please do not put in your letters anything that you know about it, for I would rather see everything for myself."