Therefore she would do it.
She did it, therefore, politely enough but unmistakably; and as it was
a fine morning, she thought that she would like to step up to the
village and post it. She did not want to relent; and once the letter
was in the post-box, the thing would be done.
It was, indeed, a delicious morning. As she passed out through the
iron gate the trees overhead, still with a few brown belated leaves,
soared up in filigree of exquisite workmanship into a sky of clear
November blue, as fresh as a hedge-sparrow's egg. The genial sound of
cock-crowing rose, silver and exultant, from the farm beyond the road,
and the tiny street of the hamlet looked as clean as a Dutch picture.
She noticed on the right, just before she turned up to the village on
the left, the grocer's shop, with the name "Nugent" in capitals as
bright and flamboyant as on the depot of a merchant king. Mr. Nugent
could be faintly descried within, in white shirt-sleeves and an apron,
busied at a pile of cheeses. Overhead, three pairs of lace curtains,
each decked with a blue bow, denoted the bedrooms. One of them must
have been Amy's. She wondered which....
All up the road to the village, some half-mile in length, she pondered
Amy.
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