The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork.
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