She
could not be more than twelve or thirteen, he thought, but condition
and circumstance had made her a woman in many matters, and the art of
shopping she knew well. Slowly, very slowly, she made her way to the
particular counter at which her precious purchase was to be made,
lingering here and there to gaze at things as much beyond her hope of
possession as the stars of heaven; and, following her slow-walking,
Van Landing could see her eyes brighten and yearn, her lips move, her
hand outstretch to touch and then draw back quickly, and also every
now and then he could see her shake her head.
"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you do that? Is there anything in here
you would like to get, besides the thing you came for?"
"Anything I'd like to get!" The words were repeated as if not heard
aright. "Anybody would know you'd never been a girl. There isn't much
in here I wouldn't like to get if I didn't have to pay for it."
"But not rattles and dolls and drums and pop-guns and boxing-gloves
and all the other things you've looked at. Girls of your age--"
"This girl wasn't looking at them for herself.
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