Лето
V
”
Heshiftedhisweightagain,crossedhisarms,andcontinuedtosurveythedistantlandscape.“Well,solong,”hesaidatlast,inconclusively;andturningawayheshambledupthehillside.Fromtheledgeaboveher,hepausedtocalldown:“Iwouldn’tgothereaSunday”;thenheclamberedontillthetreesclosedinonhim.Presently,fromhighoverhead,Charityheardtheringofhisaxe.
Shelayonthewarmridge,thinkingofmanythingsthatthewoodsman’sappearancehadstirredupinher.Sheknewnothingofherearlylife,andhadneverfeltanycuriosityaboutit:onlyasullenreluctancetoexplorethecornerofhermemorywherecertainblurredimageslingered.Butallthathadhappenedtoherwithinthelastfewweekshadstirredhertothesleepingdepths.Shehadbecomeabsorbinglyinterestingtoherself,andeverythingthathadtodowithherpastwasilluminatedbythissuddencuriosity.
ShehatedmorethaneverthefactofcomingfromtheMountain;butitwasnolongerindifferenttoher.Everythingthatinanywayaffectedherwasaliveandvivid:eventhehatefulthingshadgrowninterestingbecausetheywereapartofherself.
“IwonderifLiffHyattknowswhomymotherwas?”shemused;anditfilledherwithatremorofsurprisetothinkthatsomewomanwhowasonceyoungandslight,withquickmotionsofthebloodlikehers,hadcarriedherinherbreast,andwatchedhersleeping.
