Those who lay deaf and dumb,
those for whom people wept--where were they when the weeping seemed to
sound through all the world? How far had they gone? Was it far? Could
they hear and could they see? If one plead with them aloud, could they
draw near to listen? Did they begin a long, long journey as soon as they
had slipped away? The "wonder of the world," she had said, watching life
swelling and bursting the seeds in Kedgers' hothouses! But this was a
greater wonder still, because of its awesomeness. This man had been, and
who dare say he was not--even now? The strength of his great body, the
look in his red-brown eyes, the sound of his deep voice, the struggle,
the meaning of him, where were they? She heard herself followed by the
hollow echo of Childe Harold's hoofs, as she rode past copse and hedge,
and wet spreading fields. She was this hour as he had been a month
ago. If, with some strange suddenness, this which was Betty Vanderpoel,
slipped from its body----She put her hand up to her forehead. It was
unthinkable that there would be no more. Where was he now--where was he
now?
This was the thought that filled her brain cells to the exclusion of all
others. Over the road, down through by-lanes, out on the marshes.
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