But she does not, she only takes the work-basket and a
book, and says good night with an inclination of her little head.
I go over and stand next to her chair; I don't like to sit in it, but I
like to put my hand where her head leant, and fancy, if she were there,
how she would look up.
I woke next morning with a curious sense of pleasurable excitement. I
whistled from very lightness of heart as I dressed. When I got down I
found the landlady clearing away her breakfast things. I felt
disappointed and resolved to be down earlier in future. I didn't feel
inclined to try the minnow. I put them in a tub in the yard and tried to
read and listen for her step. I dined alone. The day dragged terribly. I
did not like to ask about her, I had a notion she might not like it. I
spent the evening on the river. I might have filled a good basket, but I
let the beggars rest. After all, I had caught fish enough to stock all
the rivers in Great Britain. There are other things than trout in the
world. I sit and smoke a pipe where she caught me last night. If I half
close my eyes I can see hers, and her mouth, in the smoke.
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