"You know nothing about it yet. I've seen this thing happen
dozens of times, and it's much worse than you imagine."
She decided, privately, to spare him the misery of it all by sending him
off into the Bush on an errand for Mr. Twist as soon as she was taken
ill. But her scheme fell through. All one day of blue and silver in
June, a winter's day with keen exhilaration in the air, she stayed with
him in the clearing, burning the branches as he hewed them down. She
felt scarcely alive. Her body was a queer, heavy, racked and
apprehensive thing down on the ground. She watched it slowly walking
about, dragging faggots of gorse fastened together by the swag-straps
which she loosened as she cast the branches cracking and creaking into
the flames. Her mind was restless, a little fey. Louis, seeing something
of her uncertainty, stopped work early, and they walked home slowly over
the cleared land that was now being ploughed.
"I feel proud of it, don't you?" she said, looking back. He nodded,
watching her anxiously.
As she was making the tea pain, quite unbearable, seized her. She got
out on the verandah so that he should not see her. After a while it
passed and, looking white, she came back into the room.
"I was going across to the Homestead to-night. Jerry's got a new record
and wants to try it on us.
Pages:
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454