"She's gone a good piece out of her road," he thought,
and then, "I wonder why she doesn't marry? She might have anybody about
here if she wasn't so particular." The vivid blue spot in the midst of
the russet and brown landscape held his gaze for a moment; then calling
Moses to his side, he unlocked the door of the mill and began counting
the sacks of grist.
Outside, in the high wind, which made walking difficult, Blossom moved
in the direction of the willow copse. Gay had promised to meet her,
but she knew, from the experience of the last few months, that he would
neither hasten his luncheon nor smoke a cigar the less in order to do
so. As she pressed on the wind sang in her ears. She heard it like the
sound of rushing wings in the broomsedge, and when it died down, she
waited for it to rise again with a silken murmur in the red-topped
orchard grass. She could tell from the sound whether the gust was still
in the field of broomsedge or had swept on to the pasture.
In spite of her blue dress, in spite of the flush in her cheeks and
the luminous softness in her eyes, the joy in her bosom fluttered on
crippled wings.
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