"I don't care—I don't care——"
"That's why I waited this afternoon. I wanted to tell you. And that
I'd come—if you liked—sometimes—as often as I could——"
"I don't care—I don't care," he chanted.
One weed had fallen, cut in two as by a razor. Now another. You had to be jolly strong to break them clean off like that. He wasn't missing once.
"Don't!"
"I shall. Why shouldn't I? You couldn't do it like that."
Another. No one to play with any more. Never to be able to pretend again that one was just like everyone else. People drawing away and saying to each other, "He's not a nice little boy!"
"Please—please, don't, Robert!"
"Why not? They're only weeds—beastly, ugly things."
"They've not done you any harm. It's a shame to hurt them. I like them."