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Return I came along the path at dusk toward a figure stooped above the woodpile, I was not sure who until she turned, arms full, & saw me and stepped back, as if afraid—Lucy, of me? Or that the Vision of a man was only air, sly manufacture of desire, impossible of touch?—I was not able to say a word. Each stared. And then I dropped my gun & bag and picked her up, wood & all, a thing no vision could do, nor could it kiss her quite as well as I did, then, and all the way to the house. As the wood was difficult I did not attempt the door & left it standing open. On the stairs she laughed & cried alternately, as did I, and as we gained the bedroom there came a great clatter of falling sticks. 38 ...

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