THE WINDOWfor example, to have paid the fare. As for herlittle bag, might he not carry that? No, no, shesaid, she always carried z/mt herself. She did too.Yes, he felt that in her. He felt many things,something in particular that excited him anddisturbed him for reasons which he could not give.He would like her to see him, gowned and hooded,walking in a procession. A fellowship, a professorship,—he felt capable of anything and sawhimself—but what was she looking at? At a manpasting a bill. The vast Happing sheet flatteneditself out, and each shove of the brush revealedfresh legs, hoops, horses, glistening reds and blues,beautifully smooth, until half the wall was coveredwith the advertisement of a circus; a hundredhorsemen, twenty performing seals, lions, tigers.Craning forwards, for she was short—sighted, sheread out how it . . . “ will visit this town." Itwas terribly dangerous work for a one—armed man,she exclaimed, to stand on top of a ladder likethat—his left arm had been cut oH·` in a reapingmachine two years ago.

‘ Let us all go! ” she cried, moving on, as if allthose riders and horses had filled her with childlike exultation and made her forget her pity.

‘Let’s go," he said, repeating her words,clicking them out, however, with a self—consciousness that made her wince. " Let us go to the

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