When they dropped down into the green
gloom of shadow and green leaves toward Lonesome Cove, she had the
same feeling that her heart was being clutched by a human hand and
that black night had suddenly fallen about her, but this time she
knew what it meant. She thought then of the crowded sleeping-room,
the rough beds and coarse blankets at home; the oil-cloth, spotted
with drippings from a candle, that covered the table; the thick
plates and cups; the soggy bread and the thick bacon floating in
grease; the absence of napkins, the eating with knives and fingers
and the noise Bub and her father made drinking their coffee. But
then she knew all these things in advance, and the memories of
them on her way over had prepared her for Lonesome Cove. The
conditions were definite there: she knew what it would be to face
them again--she was facing them all the way, and to her surprise
the realities had hurt her less even than they had before. Then
had come the same thrill over the garden, and now with that garden
and her new room and her piano and her books, with Uncle Billy's
sister to help do the work, and with the little changes that June
was daily making in the household, she could live her own life
even over there as long as she pleased, and then she would go out
into the world again.
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