Chapter 93

But he did not see her merely as a bare-headed girl in a tawny yellow jumper moving about among the chicken houses, and shutting up the birds for the night. Already—and almost insensibly—he had come to visualise her with more fullness, much as an older man sees a woman when looking for that which is woman in her and not mere sex. She had courage; she was fastidious; she could loathe a job and yet stick to it, and yet at the same time she possessed that rare flexibility which makes for understanding. And Lance, stan…