And I, she thought. I have no right to think the way I do, to feel the way I do.
But I can't help it, Ash.
I can't help but love you, Ash.
Someday, she said. Someday.
She stood straight and lonely and the tears came in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks and she did not raise her hand to wipe them off.
Dreams, she said. Broken dreams are bad enough. But the dream that has no hope…the dream that is doomed long before it's broken, that's the worst of all.
XXXVI
A dry stick cracked under Sutton's feet and the man with the wrench slowly turned around. A swift, smooth smile spread upon his face and spread out in widening crinkles to hide the amazement that glittered in his eyes.
"Good afternoon," said Sutton.
John H. Sutton was a speck that had almost climbed the hill. The sun had passed its zenith and was swinging toward the west. Down in the river's valley a half-dozen crows were cawing and it was as if the sound came from underneath their feet.