"Yes, dear."
"Well—Oh—Do you think I hurt Donahue very much?"
Jimmie considered, squinting thoughtfully along Donahue's dusty back. He was sure that Augusta had intended, and had tried, to say something entirely different.
"Well," he answered critically and judicially, "he does seem to be unusually sleepy. But whether it is from the effects of your blow or from the soporific influence of my discourse would be hard to say."
Donahue ambled on up a gently winding track—it was not quite a road—which was entirely of his own choosing.
"Jimmie."
"Yes, dear."
She nestled closer, and Jimmie waited.
"I'm afraid."
"What is it, dear?"