"I agree! When you turn to a thing it is. Turn with decision enough, and your overseer would come out to meet you. That's a sycamore for you! Do you ever feel the Indians by these streams? If you can see your overseer you can see your Indians, too."
They walked on. "Is that the house?"
"Yes."
"It's a simple place, too—but I like it. Houses, now! I make a specialty of keeping them in duration."
Anna Darcy thought, "A week ago I wouldn't have understood that."
The house where she was born, the house facing, across a row of box and a finely wrought iron paling, the old, leafy city square, walked bodily into her. She was through it, up and down, like the air. It seemed to her that there wasn't anything she didn't know about it, and it all came together into an inner aroma, taste and tone, dry, warm, pungent and likable, idiosyncratic, its very own. It had been a loss, a grief, when the city had taken and torn down that house. And all the time it was waiting for her, in a deep reality, to walk in and take possession!
She thought: "What is happening? I shall never be lonely again!"
Mr. Curtin looked from side to side of Sweet Rocket valley. "It's like a beaker of Venetian glass! You'd say there was a magic drink in it.... But how clean and drenched with sun is this air!"
"Yes!"
"He never married? Archer said he thought not."