Mist was
dripping and blind and silent about them, weaving its heavy gray
with the night. Suddenly Istra caught his arm at the gate to a
farm-yard, and cried, "Look!"
"Gee!... Gee! we're in England. We're abroad!"
"Yes--abroad."
A paved courtyard with farm outbuildings thatched and ancient
was lit faintly by a lantern hung from a post that was thumbed to
a soft smoothness by centuries.
"That couldn't be America," he exulted. "Gee! I'm just
gettin' it! I'm so darn glad we came.... Here's real England.
No tourists. It's what I've always wanted--a country that's old.
And different.... Thatched houses!... And pretty soon it'll
be dawn, summer dawn; with you, with Istra! _Gee!_ It's the
darndest adventure."
"Yes.... Come on. Let's walk fast or we'll get sleepy, and
then your romantic heroine will be a grouchy Interesting
People!... Listen! There's a sleepy dog barking, a million
miles away.... I feel like telling you about myself. You don't
know me. Or do you?"
"I dunno just how you mean.
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