Talk about Don Quixote and the
windmills! You must just see the beginning!"
How could she disappoint or refuse him, though the prospect was a
moving horror in her mind? She could close her eyes. He had called
her. He wanted her to see it with him. How could she refuse, lessen
herself perhaps in his opinion? She leant out upon the window-sill
and looked bravely below. Their shoulders were touching--she found
even consolation and assistance in that.
"Do you think it'll be long?" she asked in a low voice.
"Don't know; it all depends. I hope it won't be too short. Sure you
don't mind?"
She was possessed of that same motive which induces a woman to make
light, to make nothing of her pain and her suffering to the man she
loves. In such moments--loving deeply--she looks upon it, speaks of
it, as a visitation of which she is ashamed. Begs him to forgive her
that she suffers. It is an entire abnegation of self. It was so in
this matter with Sally.
"I'm quite sure," she replied, as she held, with tightening hands
and knuckles white, upon the window-sill.
CHAPTER XVI
The two men emerged from the shed where they had put away their coats.
They were stripped to the waist.
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