It was a weird
thing. He turned to the girl Polly.
"Tell me how you came here,"
he said.
He spoke in a low voice and
gently. He did not want to frighten
her, but he wanted to know how SHE
had begun. When she lifted her
childish eyes to his, her chin began
to shake. For some reason she did
not question his right to ask what he
would. She answered him meekly,
as her fingers fumbled with the stuff
of her dress.
"I lived in the country with my
mother," she said. "We was very
happy together. In the spring there
was primroses and--and lambs. I
--can't abide to look at the sheep
in the park these days. They remind
me so. There was a girl in
the village got a place in town and
came back and told us all about it.
It made me silly. I wanted to
come here, too. I--I came--"
She put her arm over her face and
began to sob.
"She can't tell you," said Glad.
"There was a swell in the 'ouse
made love to her. She used to carry
up coals to 'is parlor an' 'e talked to
'er. 'E 'ad a wye with 'im--"
Polly broke into a smothered wail.
"Oh, I did love him so--I did!"
she cried. "I'd have let him walk
over me. I'd have let him kill
me."
" 'E nearly did it," said Glad.
" 'E went away sudden an' she 's
never 'eard word of 'im since."
From under Polly's face-hiding
arm came broken words.
"I couldn't tell my mother. I
did not know how. I was too frightened
and ashamed. Now it's too
late.
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