She lifted her head as if she had been stung.
"You—you aren't going away!"
"Yes."
"When are you coming back?"
"I don't know."
The dull rain poured, the defective spouts at the eaves played gray fountains, the great tulipifera rhododendron waved answering arms to the signals of the storm.
In the momentary lull, An' Jerusha in the kitchen could be heard quavering out wild notes, among which Ethan recognized the words:
"No mo' peace on de earf."
"I don't believe you'll go," said Val.
He couldn't see her face so well now in the gray light.