The two girls were alone, standing before a vacant lot grown to weeds, rank bristles of burdock, and slender spikes of evanescent succory.

Abby burst out in a passionate appeal, clutching Ellen's arm hard.
"Ellen, promise me you never will," she cried.
"Promise you what, Abby ?" "Oh, promise me you never will marry anybody like him.

I know it's none of my business--I know that is something that is none of anybody's business, no matter how much they think of anybody; but I think more of you than any man ever will, I don't care who he is.

I know I do, Ellen Brewster.

And don't you ever marry a man like Granville Joy, just an ordinary man who works in the shop, and will never do anything but work in the shop.