Girls High School - Journal Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 30 text:

The Journal December IQ24 Faculty Welcome We, the class of December ’24, wish to ex- tend a most cordial welcome to our new teachers: Miss de Bernardi, Miss Powell, Miss Stacy, and Dr. Turner, and sincerely hope that their stay in G. H. S. will be a happy one.

Page 32 text:

The Journal December 1924 Felicia, the Happy One She sat smiling in a sunny corner of the old Veronese market-place. Hunchback though she was, her heart was light, and she called her wares joyously, did Felicia, the happy one. The pageantry of color that was Verona swept endlessly by, some folk buying, others merely feasting their eyes, still others strolling aimlessly, lost in thought. Felicia loved them all, but heeded none after the one she most longed for had passed by without noticing her outstretched blossoms. He was sad, was young Mario, and Felicia’s heart became a leaden thing at the sight of his white face, and the realization of her own help- lessness. Carelessly leaving her wares, the maid wandered aimlessly about, crying in her soul’s agony that she could do nothing for the one she loved with all her whole misshapen being. In desperation, she sought the quiet cathedral, and before the holy altar, breathed an anguished prayer to the Blessed Virgin. Once more at her stand she waited wearily, and the long black shad- ows were creeping over the now empty street, when at last he came again. Felicia did not see him for her eyes were blind with tears; but her heart knew and throbbed with the painful joy of seeing him again. He spoke, and his voice was hollow, tortured, as if the very heart of him were dead. ’‘Felicia, a white rose for a dead love—to place upon the aching altar of—my heart. How much?” Her sorrow seized her throat in a choking grasp, so that she could only lift a white blossom gently, hand it to him whispering: 'Tis nothing. Take it. May it may it—bring thee—peace.” She was ashamed of her tears, for who was she, to weep for the highest born in Verona? He gazed upon her pitiful face, and softly said: ‘‘Felicia, thy heart is like thy pure, white rose; but peace cannot come to a heart tortured as mine is tortured.” He started slowly on, and Felicia’s heart broke. Suddenly she heard him cry out — and then the clash of steel smote her numbed senses. Scarce knowing what she did, the grotesque little hunchback ran toward the sound. She saw and terror tore her heartstrings. A duel—flash of steel