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future. He would have to begin discussing the return soon. There was no
traffic along the road, and he came up beside her (he had fallen behind
in his musing). She began to talk. "Mr. Denison," she began, and then,
doubtfully, "That is your name? I'm very stupid--"
"
It is," said Mr. Hoopdriver. (Denison, was it? Denison, Denison,
Denison. What was she saying?)
"
I wonder how far you are willing to help me?" Confoundedly hard to
answer a question like that on the spur of the moment, without steering
wildly. "You may rely--" said Mr. Hoopdriver, recovering from a violent
wabble. "I can assure you--I want to help you very much. Don't consider
me at all. Leastways, consider me entirely at your service." (Nuisance
not to be able to say this kind of thing right.)
"You see, I am so awkwardly situated."
"If I can only help you--you will make me very happy--" There was a
pause. Round a bend in the road they came upon a grassy space between
hedge and road, set with yarrow and meadowsweet, where a felled tree lay
among the green. There she dismounted, and propping her machine against
a stone, sat down. "Here, we can talk," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, expectant.
She answered after a little while, sitting, elbow on knee, with her chin
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