But I don't understand her; she's over my head. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. It was a dead calm. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. His father spoke for him. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it.
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