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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The White People"

He only spoke of it briefly, but I saw it as a picture; and always
afterward, when I thought of his mother, I thought of her as sitting
under a great and ancient apple-tree with the long, late-afternoon
shadows stretching on the thick, green grass. I suppose I saw that just
because he said:
"Will you come to tea under the big apple-tree some afternoon when the
late shadows are like velvet on the grass? That is perhaps the loveliest
time."
When we rose to go and join the rest of the party, he stood a moment and
glanced round the room at our fellow-guests.
"Are there any of your White People here to-night?" he said, smiling. "I
shall begin to look for them everywhere."
I glanced over the faces carelessly. "There are none here to-night,"
I answered, and then I flushed because he had smiled. "It was only
a childish name I gave them," I hesitated. "I forgot you wouldn't
understand. I dare say it sounds silly."
He looked at me so quickly.
"No! no! no!" he exclaimed. "You mustn't think that! Certainly not
silly."
I do not think he knew that he put out his hand and gently touched my
arm, as one might touch a child to make it feel one wanted it to listen.
"You don't know," he said in his low, slow voice, "how glad I am that
you have talked to me. Sir Ian said you were not fond of talking to
people, and I wanted to know you.


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