He was like a
child possessed, consciously or unconsciously, of a weapon, and her
sense of her own superiority was corrected by fear of his strength and
of the subtle weakness in her own blood.
She heard a murmur. 'She has treated me very badly. I've known her all
my life. Well--'
Henrietta, with a gentleness he appreciated and a cleverness he
missed, said commiseratingly, 'She wouldn't let you take her hand in
the wood.'
'What on earth are you talking about? Look here, Henrietta, what do
you mean?' There had been so many occasions of the kind that it was
impossible to know to which one she referred, and, looking back, his
past seemed to be blocked with frustrations and petty torments. 'What
do you mean?' he repeated.
'Never mind.'
'This is some gossip,' he muttered.
'Yes, among the squirrels and the rabbits. Woods are full of eyes and
ears.'
'Well,' he said, 'the eyes and ears will have to find another home.
There will soon be no wood left.'
So he had tried to take Aunt Rose's hand in this wood too! She laughed
with the pretty trill which made her laughter a new thing every time.
'I don't see the joke,' he grumbled.
She turned to him. 'I don't think you've laughed very much in your
life. You're always being sorry for yourself.'
'I have been very unfortunate,' he replied.
'There you are again! Why don't you tell yourself you're lucky not to
squint or turn in your toes? You'd be much more miserable then--much.
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