Лето
VIII
I’magoodmanyyearsolderthanyou,butI’mheadandshouldersabovethisplaceandeverybodyinit,andyouknowthattoo.Islippeduponce,butthat’snoreasonfornotstartingagain.Ifyou’llcomewithmeI’lldoit.Ifyou’llmarrymewe’llleavehereandsettleinsomebigtown,wherethere’smen,andbusiness,andthingsdoing.It’snottoolateformetofindanopening....IcanseeitbythewayfolkstreatmewhenIgodowntoHepburnorNettleton....”
Charitymadenomovement.Nothinginhisappealreachedherheart,andshethoughtonlyofwordstowoundandwither.Butagrowinglassituderestrainedher.Whatdidanythingmatterthathewassaying?Shesawtheoldlifeclosinginonher,andhardlyheededhisfancifulpictureofrenewal.
“Charity—Charity—sayyou’lldoit,”sheheardhimurge,allhislostyearsandwastedpassioninhisvoice.
“Oh,what’stheuseofallthis?WhenIleavehereitwon’tbewithyou.”
Shemovedtowardthedoorasshespoke,andhestoodupandplacedhimselfbetweenherandthethreshold.Heseemedsuddenlytallandstrong,asthoughtheextremityofhishumiliationhadgivenhimnewvigour.
“That’sall,isit?It’snotmuch.”Heleanedagainstthedoor,sotoweringandpowerfulthatheseemedtofillthenarrowroom.“Well,thenlookhere....You’reright:I’venoclaimonyou—whyshouldyoulookatabrokenmanlikeme?Youwanttheotherfellow...andIdon’tblameyou.Youpickedoutthebestwhenyouseenit...well,thatwasalwaysmyway.
