The mother watched him with strained attention as he set off towards
the barn. There was a sort of savage aimlessness in his gait. His
shoulders were bent forward, his hands thrust deep into his pockets,
and he looked neither to the one side nor the other of the road. At
the barnyard gate he seemed to hesitate a second, then turned in, and
the small, gray-haired woman on the step sighed and went back into the
house.
David strode deliberately through the yard and out of the gate on the
other side--the one that opened on the sloping meadow behind the barn.
Not a living thing was in sight. A chill, white fog had slowly settled
over the land, obliterating outline and color, toning everything down
to a monotonous sameness of appearance--a flat, unrelieved vacancy.
David walked on mechanically, unmindful of any destination or definite
purpose; a dumb bitterness wrung his heart, and, in comparison with
that, all that was external and objective seemed unaccountable.
Involuntarily he thrust his hand into his coat and drew out a letter.
He had read it twice already.
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