"
A tremendous gust, driven in from the sea, tore the sweater from
the Winslow head and shoulders and wrapped it lovingly about one of
the posts in the yard. Jed did not offer to recover it; he
scarcely seemed to know that it was gone. Instead he stood staring
at the express driver, while the rain ran down his nose and dripped
from its tip to his chin.
"She--she's goin' back to Luretta Smalley's?" he repeated. "She--"
He did not finish the sentence. Instead he turned on his heel and
walked slowly back to the shop. The sweater, wrapped about the
post where, in summer, a wooden sailor brandished his paddles,
flapped soggily in the wind. Hardy gazed after him.
"What in time--?" he exclaimed. Then, raising his voice, he
called: "Hi, Jed! Jed! You crazy critter! What--Jed, hold on a
minute, didn't you know she was goin'? Didn't she tell you? Jed!"
But Jed had entered the shop and closed the door. Philander drove
off, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
A few minutes later Mrs. Armstrong, hearing a knock at the rear
door of the Winslow house, opened it to find her landlord standing
on the threshold. He was bareheaded and he had no umbrella.
"Why, Mr. Winslow!" she exclaimed. It was the first time that he
had come to that house of his own accord since she had occupied it.
Now he stood there, in the rain, looking at her without speaking.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141