“Yes, it is. But we’ll go out again.”
“Of course.”
[CHAPTER III
FINISHING]
“HOW minute we are.”
“Why?”
“Well, this does not seem to be a time of great feelings, perhaps we have had too many of them lately. And we are so small compared to the trees. Gods come and go, but trees remain. By ‘small’ I don’t mean ‘in height.’ They seem to me so lasting, so grave in their fat green cloaks, or in winter like naked lace.”
“There, an’ I’ve forgotten to feed the chickens.”
“We are so petty, while time in the towns rolls by on well-oiled wheels with horrible efficiency. The machinery there goes on and on, and there are bits of it that are not right. The most horrible injustices.”
“There’s no justice.”