But there are times when it is nothing but a great wilderness of mud, and the grey mists come blowing in, and one is cold here, cold to the bone.

Then I hate the place worse than ever." "Have you ever tried to go away for a time ?" Jeanne asked.
"I went once to London," the girl said, turning her head a little away.
"I should have stayed there, I think, if things had turned out as I had expected, but they didn't, and my father died suddenly, so I came home to take care of the farm." Jeanne nodded sympathetically.

She was beginning to wonder why this girl had come out from the house with the obvious intention of speaking to her.

She stood by her side, not exactly awkward, but still not wholly at her ease, her hands clasped behind her straight back, her black eyebrows drawn together in a little uneasy frown.

Her coarse brown skirt was not long enough to conceal her wonderfully shaped ankles.