She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. I must not let you go again. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. . “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. We men are like children. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground.
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