It seemed to tell a long, long story without
words.
"You must do what I ask you to do--whatever I ask you to do," he
repeated. "Will you?"
"Yes, anything you ask me I'll do," she answered, and then added quickly,
"For you won't ask me to do anything I don't want to do. That's the
difference. You understand, Orlando."
A few minutes later he had found a suitable place to make a kind of bed
of grass for her, and had prepared it, with his knife, cutting the
branches of small shrubs and grass and the scanty branches of the pine.
When it was finished, he came to her and said:
"It's all ready. Come and lie down, and I'll cover you up."
She got to her feet slowly, for she was in pain greater than she knew, so
absorbed was her mind in this new life suddenly enveloping her, and then
she said in a low voice: "No, not yet; I can't yet. I want to sit here.
I've never felt the night like this before. It's wonderful, and I'm not
nearly so cold now. I know I oughtn't to be cold at all, in the middle
of summer like this.
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