She caught his eye.
"Isn't it dreadful ?" she asked.
"I don't know! Is it worse than a weasel with its teeth in a rabbit's throat?
One weasel or many rabbits?
One or the other must go!" He was taking the bitterness of life badly.

She was rather sorry for him.
"We will go back to the house," he said.

"I don't want to walk out." They went past the lilac-tree, whose bronze leaf-buds were coming unfastened.

Just a fragment remained of the haystack, a monument squared and brown, like a pillar of stone.

There was a little bed of hay from the last cutting.
"Let us sit here a minute," said Miriam.
He sat down against his will, resting his back against the hard wall of hay.