Rhoda.
Bursts out.
The great town, the people, the noise, and the lights—after seventeen years of life on a dead prairie, where I'd hardly heard a laugh or seen a happy face!—All the same, the prairie had me still.
Littlefield.
You don't mean you went back to the farm?
Rhoda.
I mean that the years I'd spent out there in that endless stretch of earth and sky—.
She breaks off, with a weary gesture.
There's no use going into that. You wouldn't understand.
Littlefield.