I hadn't noticed what you were talking
about."
"It's nothing," she laughed. "Only a funny old lady--and she's gone
now. I'm going, too--at least, I'm going indoors to read. It's
cooler in the house, but the heat's really not bad anywhere, since
nightfall. Summer's dying. How quickly it goes, once it begins to
die."
When she had gone into the house, Fanny stopped rocking, and, leaning
forward, drew her black gauze wrap about her shoulders and shivered.
"Isn't it queer," she said drearily, "how your mother can use such
words?"
"What words are you talking about?" George asked.
"Words like 'die' and 'dying.' I don't see how she can bear to use
them so soon after your poor father--" She shivered again.
"It's almost a year," George said absently, and he added: "It seems
to me you're using them yourself."
"I? Never!"
"Yes, you did."
"When?"
"Just this minute."
"Oh!" said Fanny. "You mean when I repeated what she said? That's
hardly the same thing, George."
He was not enough interested to argue the point.
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