Now nothing seems
important but things that are--the things that would be on a desert
island. And in getting to think that way, in getting so far from what
you once were, a person seems to squeeze a good many years into a few
weeks." She looked sideways at him, the stones dropping from a
slanting palm. "Do you understand me?"
He nodded:
"'When I was a child I thought as a child--now I have put away childish
things.' Is that it?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Then you wouldn't like to go back to the old life?"
She scattered the stones with an impatient gesture:
"I couldn't. I'd hate it. I wouldn't squeeze back into the same
shape. I'd be all cramped and crowded up. You see every day out here
I've been growing wider and wider," she stretched her arms to their
length, "widening out to fit these huge, enormous places."
"The new life will be wide enough for you. You'll grow like a tree, a
beautiful, tall, straight tree that has plenty of room for its branches
to spread and plenty of sun and air to nourish it. There'll be no
crowding or cramping out there. It's good to know you'll be happy in
California.
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