Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. “This ain’t no place for you. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. I have suffered too much from your treachery.
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