I’m starting the last of the Anne books. But at this point, actually since book 6, Anne of Ingleside, there has been less Anne and more the “Adventures of the Blythe Children.” I suppose that’s all right. Book 7, Rainbow Valley, was a fun read with childhood nostalgia and World War I foreshadowing thrown in for good measure.
Here’s my highlight from Rainbow Valley:
John Meredith was startled by her loveliness and Rosemary was startled by his presence. She had never thought she would find anyone by that remote spring, least of all the recluse of Glen St. Mary manse.
“I – I came for a drink,” she said, stammering a little in answer to Mr. Meredith’s grave “good evening, Miss West.” She felt that she was an unpardonable goose and she longed to shake herself. […] Her confusion put him at ease and he forgot to be shy; besides, even the shyest of men can sometimes be quite audacious in moonlight.
“Let me get you a cup,” he said smiling. There was a cup near by, if he had only known it, a cracked, handleless blue cup secreted under the maple by the Rainbow Valley children; but he did not know it, so he stepped out to one of the birch-trees and stripped a bit of its white skin away. Deftly he fashioned this into a three-cornered cup, filled it from the spring, and handed it to Rosemary.
Rosemary took it and drank every drop to punish herself for her fib, for she was not in the least thirsty, and to drink a fairly large cupful of water when you are not thirsty is somewhat of an ordeal. Yet the memory of that draught was to be very pleasant to Rosemary. In later years it seemed to her that there was something sacremental about it.