She didn't know
what it was exactly, but it was something Ally hadn't got.
She only said, "Have you seen the thorn-trees on Greffington Edge?"
And Ally never answered. She was heading off a stream of jam that was
creeping down Stevey's chin to plunge into his neck.
"Gwenda's aasskin' yo 'ave yo seen t' thorn-trees on Greffington
Edge," said Greatorex. He spoke to Ally as if she were deaf.
She made a desperate effort to detach herself from Stevey.
"The thorn-trees? Has anybody set fire to them?"
"Tha silly laass!----"
"What about the thorn-trees, Gwenda?"
"Only that they're all in flower," Gwenda said.
She didn't know where it had come from, the sudden impulse to tell
Ally about the beauty of the thorn-trees.
But the impulse had gone. She thought sadly, "They want me. But they
don't want me for myself. They don't want to talk to me. They don't
know what to say. They don't know anything about me. They don't
care--really. Jim likes me because I've stuck to Ally. Ally loves me
because I would have given Steven to her. They love what I was, not
what I am now, nor what I shall be.
"They have nothing for me."
It was Jim who answered her. "I knaw," he said, "I knaw."
"Oh! You little, little--lamb!"
Baby John had his fingers in his mother's hair.
* * * * *
Greatorex rose. "You'll not get mooch out o' Ally as long as t' kids
are about. Yo'd best coom wi' mae into t' garden and see t' loopins.
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