And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. . A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. Wood, popping her head through the window. " "But Wild still lives," cried Wood.
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