Nugent's shop, but it was of no use. The whole place was as
full to him of the memory of Amy--and more than the memory, it
seemed--as if she was still alive. They drew up at the very gate where
he had whispered her name; the end of the yew walk, where he had sat
on a certain night, showed beyond the house; and half a mile behind
lay the meadows, darkling now, where he had first met her face to face
in the sunset, and the sluice of the stream where they had stood
together silent. And all was like a landscape seen through colored
paper by a child, it was of the uniform tint of death and sorrow.
Laurie was rather quiet all that evening. His mother noticed it, and
it produced a remark from her that for an instant brought his heart
into his mouth.
"You look a little peaked, dearest," she said, as she took her bedroom
candlestick from him. "You haven't been thinking any more about that
Spiritualism?"
He handed a candlestick to Maggie, avoiding her eyes.
"Oh, for a bit," he said lightly, "but I haven't touched the thing for
over two months."
He said it so well that even Maggie was reassured. She had just
hesitated for a fraction of a second to hear his answer, and she went
to bed well content.
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