"Hardly four o'clock, and dark as a wolf's mouth."
"Yes, the sun sets early these days. I love the long evenings."
She poked the low-burned fire till a feeble flame sprang up. He turned and looked at her through the twilight.
"What do you do, little cousin, when you want to kill time?"
She glanced over her shoulder with sudden gravity, shovel in hand.
"Do you know, I think to 'kill time' is the most hideous, murderous phrase in the language. I wish you wouldn't use it."
"What do you propose as a substitute?"
"Just remembering how little time there is for all there is to do with it." (No coal left in the scuttle—she must go and tell Venie.)
"Ah, yes," Ethan said, coming back and sitting down. "But suppose you haven't got a mission? Suppose nobody and nothing has any particular need of you?"
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of missions and needs. I was just thinking of how much there was to see and—to—to feel—to find out about! Enough to last a million years, and we aren't given (in this life) a hundred." Gloom settled down upon her face. "I think it's simply awful that we're allowed so little time. Even elephants and ravens are better off."