She smiled sweetly: rather stiffly he raised his hand to
his hat and in that moment she recognized that he had no welcome for
her. He had changed; he was grave though he was not sullen, and she
said to herself with her ready bitterness, 'Ah, he has reformed, now
that there's no need. That's what they all do.'
But her smile did not fade. She leaned over the gate in a friendly
manner and asked him about the lambs. How old were they? She hoped he
would not have them killed: they were too sweet. She had never touched
one in her life. Why did they get so ugly afterwards? It was hard to
believe those little things with faces like kittens, or like flowers,
were the children of their lumpy mothers. 'Do you think I could catch
one if I came inside?' she asked.
'Come inside,' he said, 'but the shepherd shall catch one for you.'
She stroked the curly wool, she pulled the apprehensive ears, she
uttered absurdities and, glancing up to see if Sales were laughing at
her charming folly, she saw that he was examining his flock with the
practical interest of a farmer. He was apparently considering some
technical point; he had not been listening to her at all. She hated
that lamb, she hoped he would kill it and all the rest, and she
decided to eat mutton in future with voracity.
'I was going to pick primroses,' she said. 'Are there any in these
fields?' 'I don't know. Can you spare me a few minutes? I want to
speak to you.
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