What she saw there I could not tell. A drearier sight is hard to find
than our valley when the chill of the November evening is creeping over
it as the fire in the west goes out. Night covers it, and it sleeps.
But the winter twilight raises up its shadows. In the darkness all is
hidden. In the half-light there is utter loneliness.
I turned from the window to the letter, and Mary looked at me for the
first time in many minutes.
"Are you going to read the rest of the letter?" she demanded.
"You have heard 'most all of it," I replied evasively.
"And the rest?" she said.
"Is of no interest," I answered. "It's just a few personal,
confidential things. Perhaps some time I can tell you."
"Oh," she exclaimed carelessly, and went on knitting, drawing closer to
the lamplight.
"How long is it since he left?" she asked at last, reaching down to
untangle the worsted from the end of the rocker.
"Six weeks," said I. "It's just six weeks coming to-morrow since Tim
and I parted at Pleasantville. To think he has been promoted already!
At that rate he should be head of the firm in a year or two.
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