Then Bess herself went down
through the heat of the day. But the woman went on picking, and
while she picked she discussed property and proprietary rights,
denying Bess's sovereignty until deeds and documents should be
produced in proof thereof. And all the time she went on picking,
never once overlooking her hand. She was a large woman, belligerent
of aspect, and Bess was only a woman and not prone to fisticuffs. So
the invader picked until she could pick no more, said "Good-day," and
sailed majestically away.
"People have really grown worse in the last several years, I think,"
said Bess to me in a tired sort of voice that night, as we sat in the
library after dinner.
Next day I was inclined to agree with her. "There's a woman and a
little girl heading straight for the poppies," said May, a maid about
the bungalow. I went out on the porch and waited their advent. They
plunged through the pine trees and into the fields, and as the roots
of the first poppies were pulled I called to them.
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