{"id":263053,"date":"2026-07-14T14:19:27","date_gmt":"2026-07-14T11:19:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/home-to-morning-star-margaret-way\/"},"modified":"2026-07-14T14:19:27","modified_gmt":"2026-07-14T11:19:27","slug":"home-to-morning-star-margaret-way","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/home-to-morning-star-margaret-way\/","title":{"rendered":"Home To Morning Star – Margaret Way"},"content":{"rendered":"
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A wallaby darted out of its feathery cover and the chestnut showed her resentment in no uncertain manner. ‘Steady, girl!’ Miranda quietened the snorting plunging horse. ‘There might be a few more of those about.’ It was wonderful to see the country in such splendor when the memory of drought was vividly imprinted on her mind. The chestnut, her fright over, was moving eagerly up the pad, and ten minutes later Miranda heard the distant sounds of men and dogs and cattle. The top of the bluff would be an, excellent vantage point.<\/p>\n

She didn’t plan to get in anyone’s way, just talk to Blake. After all, there wasn’t that much time. it had been terribly hard to walk away from Miss O’Reilly when she had felt like knocking down a door. In the past she had made some attempts to communicate her thoughts about little Andrea to Uncle Grant, but he had always either averted his eyes, changed the conversation or made a hasty retreat.<\/p>\n

There were many good, kind men in the world, but not all of them were meant to be fathers, just as Marcy had never been a responsible, aware parent. At least there had never been hostile feelings between them, which didn’t seem to be the case with Andrea. She was distinctly, unfriendly towards both her parents. The sounds of the muster were stronger, reverberating bellows and barks. Close to her but unseen, screened by the eternal spinifex and the purple-flowering succulent, the parakeelya, a wounded dingo lay in wait.<\/p>\n

Only that morning it had attacked and pulled down a calf, and there it lay crouched, hostile to the presence of horse and rider. One rifle shot had missed it; it seemed like only a matter of time. The wild dog made no noise at all. As Miranda rode past, it sprang with a powerful surge of its yellow body, intent on savaging her booted foot To those that knew it, this huge wild dog was a calf- killer, with a history of attacks on the station dogs and even riding stockmen.<\/p>\n

Taken completely unawares, Miranda did well to remain in the saddle. The chestnut reared and began wheeling in circles, screaming and snorting, while Miranda tried to fight the dingo off with no more than her felt hat. ‘Get off, you brute!’<\/p>\n

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THE telephone woke her, shrilling out in the hallway. Yes?’ she said huskily, one arm in, the other out of her embroidered, pink crepe-de-chine peignoir. ‘Miss Seymour? Herriot and Associates here. Mr.’ Herriot to speak to you.’ ‘Thank: you.’ Miranda covered the phone with her hand and yawned delicately. Why would, George be ringing at such an ungodly hour? ‘Miranda?’ It was George Herriot’s voice, rich and plummy.<\/p>\n

‘Morning, George.’ ‘You sound sleepy, m’dear. Another party?’ ‘Just dinner with Shane.’ ‘Ah yes.’ George didn’t like Miranda’s newest fianc\u00e9. ‘Fact is, m’dear, I’d like to see you some time this morning.’ ‘Can’t it wait, George?’ She had an appointment at the hairdresser’s at eleven, then lunch with Shane.<\/p>\n

The new place, Allegra. ‘No, m’dear, it can’t!’ George affected a firm one. ‘Shall we say- ten- thirty sharp?’ Put on her mettle, Miranda arrived right on time. George came towards her, portly and genial, his small, twinkley blue eyes musing over her youthful chic. ‘Ravishing!’ he commented with almost paternal pride. ‘What a pretty girl you are, Miranda.<\/p>\n

Sometimes makes me wish I’d overcome my aversion to marriage. I’d have enjoyed a daughter like you.’ ‘But you’ve been like a father to me, George,’ Miranda said affectionately. ‘God knows I’ve tried.’ George shook his downy head with the gleaming bald patch. ‘To think Marcy had to hare off to America and leave you at, home.’ Miranda sank down upon George’s deep leather armchair, adjusting the skirt of her canary yellow .dress.<\/p>\n

‘We’ve been through this before, George. I love the States, but I much prefer home. We have a great way of life; the informality and the freedom. My heart and spirit are here, George.’ ‘Yet your mother spent the last five years of her life in California.’ ‘I was never lonely!’ Miranda protested. ‘I loved school and University. I have plenty of friends.’ ‘That tends to happen when one is considered wealthy.’<\/p>\n

‘–isn’t it lovely!’ Miranda agreed complacently. ‘I can’t believe Marcy’s gone. She was so incredibly vivacious.’ – , ‘She was that!’ George very nearly clicked his tongue. Marcy Seymour had been quite the scattiest woman he had ever known, but so exquisite, so utterly free from vanity or malice, one could have forgiven her anything. One did. Even the near desertion of her only child. Her untimely death at the age of forty-four had been quite in keeping with her high-spirited way of life.<\/p>\n

Where other women remained quietly looking after their homes and, families, Marcy had taken up hang-gliding. To her cost. ‘So what is it?’ Miranda was disconcerted to see George looking so upset. ‘The will, George,’ she prompted. ‘Is that’ what’s bothering you, you old softie? No need to read it out.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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