"Yesh," replied Abraham. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. He’s a catch, Lucy. She sensed that he was looking for her. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees.
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