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VI. The Figure against the Sky

           Furtheraheadweredimlyvisibleanirregulardwelling-house,garden,andoutbuildings,backedbyaclumpoffirs.

           Theyounglady—foryouthhadrevealeditspresenceinherbuoyantboundupthebank—walkedalongthetopinsteadofdescendinginside,andcametothecornerwherethefirewasburning.Onereasonforthepermanenceoftheblazewasnowmanifest:thefuelconsistedofhardpiecesofwood,cleftandsawn—theknottybolesofoldthorntreeswhichgrewintwosandthreesaboutthehillsides.Ayetunconsumedpileoftheselayintheinnerangleofthebank;andfromthiscornertheupturnedfaceofalittleboygreetedhereyes.Hewasdilatorilythrowingupapieceofwoodintothefireeverynowandthen,abusinesswhichseemedtohaveengagedhimaconsiderablepartoftheevening,forhisfacewassomewhatweary.

           “Iamgladyouhavecome,MissEustacia,”hesaid,withasighofrelief.“Idon’tlikebidingbymyself.”

           “Nonsense.Ihaveonlybeenalittlewayforawalk.Ihavebeengoneonlytwentyminutes.”

           “Itseemedlong,”murmuredthesadboy.“Andyouhavebeensomanytimes.”

           “Why,Ithoughtyouwouldbepleasedtohaveabonfire.Areyounotmuchobligedtomeformakingyouone?”

           “Yes;butthere’snobodyheretoplaywi’me.”

           “IsupposenobodyhascomewhileI’vebeenaway?”

           “Nobodyexceptyourgrandfather—helookedoutofdoorsoncefor’ee.Itoldhimyouwerewalkingrounduponthehilltolookattheotherbonfires.”

           “Agoodboy.”

           “IthinkIhearhimcomingagain,miss.

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