"What'll you do, Winny?"
"I'll ask Mr. Randall if he'll take me on."
"You won't stay here?"
"No. Better not. I mustn't be too near, this time. That was the mistake I made before. And you've got your mother."
"And what have you got?" he cried, fiercely.
"I've got plenty—all I've ever had. These things don't go away, dear."
They stood still, looking before them, with their unspoken misery in their eyes.
At their feet, down there, creeping low on the ground, spreading its packed roofs for miles over the land that had once been green fields, its red and purple smoldering and smoking in the autumn mist and sunset, there lay the Paradise of Little Clerks.
They turned and went slowly toward it down the hill.