The idea of a year without her was altogether beyond my grasp. It
seemed infinite.
Week after week passed, and month after month, and little Winifred
was always in my thoughts. Wynne's cottage was a sacred spot to me,
and the organist the most interesting man in the world. I never tired
of asking him questions about her, though he, as I soon found, knew
scarcely anything concerning her and what she was doing, and cared
less; for love of drink had got thoroughly hold of him.
Letters were scarce visitants to him, and I believe he never used to
hear from Wales at all.
V
At the end of the year she came again, and I had about a year of
happiness. I was with her every day, and every day she grew more
necessary to my existence.
It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Winnie's friend
Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy girl. Graylingham Wood and
Rington Wood, like the entire neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of
a superior kind of Gypsies called Griengroes, that is to say,
horse-dealers. Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell
them in the Eastern Counties and the East Midlands.
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