Page:Willa Cather - The Song of the Lark.djvu/223

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THE SONG OF THE LARK

He had let something he cared for go, and he felt bitterly about whatever was left. The mood would pass, and he would be sorry. She knew him. It wounded her, of course, but that hurt was not new. It was as old as her love for him. She went out and left him alone.