The Undoing of Dinney Crockett
he, being very much in doubt, looked meeker than ever. He next noticed a silver dish on the sideboard piled high with big oranges. The oranges settled the matter. He was hers—hers for all time.
But he wriggled away, because he did not like being hugged. Such things were strange to him, he had never been taught to look for them, and his heart had never hungered for them. But he kept his eye on the dish of oranges. During all this George coughed once or twice, and said Dinney had the making of a fine boy in him, a very fine boy indeed!
So Dinney, who had beheld nothing but brick and stone all his life, was carried away into the country. Never before had he seen hot corn, the same as the Italians sold on the street corners, growing on long stalks. Nor had he ever before seen apples hanging on trees, or acres and acres of green grass, or flowers, millions and millions of flowers, all growing wild on the ground, like a lot of cobble-stones. It filled him with a silent wonder.
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