They had all slept together under a tree and he had
made some rather voluble protests because the other two would talk so
continuously and prevented his sleeping. It was a warm night and the
sun had come up behind the trees "surprisin' quick." He had liked the
old boy, especially as he had given him half a crown.
The woman was another story. She was quiet and reserved, dressed in
black, with a neat little black hat with a green feather in it. She had
yellow fluffy hair and bright childish blue eyes and a simple, innocent
expression. She spoke very softly and almost in a whisper. So far as I
could discover she could see nothing odd in Wilbraham nor in anything
that he had said. She was the one person in all the world who had
understood him completely and found nothing out of the way in his talk.
She had liked him at once, she said. "I could see that he was kind,"
she added earnestly, as though to her that was the most important thing
in all the world. No, his talk had not seemed odd to her. She had
believed every word that he had said. Why not? You could not look at
him and not believe what he said.
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