'I wonder if there are many folk like her down South. She's like
a breath of country air, somehow. She freshens me up above a bit.
Who'd ha' thought that face--as bright and as strong as the angel
I dream of--could have known the sorrow she speaks on? I wonder
how she'll sin. All on us must sin. I think a deal on her, for
sure. But father does the like, I see. And Mary even. It's not
often hoo's stirred up to notice much.'