[{"node":{"title":"Hanna016","Collections":"Part One","Contributor":"Linen Hall Library","Coverage":"1951","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Thursday, April 7, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Hanna016","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Solitary, Peninsula","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hanna016","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Hanna016_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"11\n\nChapter Three\n\nSarah moved slowly along the hedge that bordered the grazing field\n\nsloping from the farm to the brink of the brae over the lough. Occasionaly,\n\nshe knelt and drew out a sere twig from the ditch and put it in her pursed-up\n\napron. She descended the slope until she was approaching the turn of the\n\nhedge over the lough. Her gleaning was so small and her steps so listless\n\nthat it was evident that the gathering of kindling was only the outward\n\n3ign of an inner preoccupation. But even here, a solitary figure in the\n\ndusk, no sign, no smile, no frown or poise of the head betrayed whether\n\nher thoughts were pleasant or otherwise.\n\nShe had left the kitchen unable any longer to bear the attention of\n\nFrank whose eyes she felt fixed on her head as she went over her flowering,\n\nand which he lowered when at last he had forced a response from her. Then\n\nMm..wcasaftt, his sunburnt face cupped in his hands, when he had returned her\n\ngaze boldly, with a look that filled her with apprehension and fear. She rose,\n\nfolding up her embroidery, and put on her working apron. The tranquil light\n\nfrom the ceiling-lamp fell on the household as she stood with her hand on the\n\nlatch: her mother, small and bent, tapping her flowering-hoops with her needle;\n\nAndrew, following the newsprint with moving lips, his spectacles balanced\n\nhalfway between light-filled hair and beard; Hamilton, dozing at the fire.\n\nFrank stood up, stretching his arms and yawning. But his eyes were alert,\n\nbright, questioning her. She had rebuffed him as she lifted the latch and\n\nthen hesitated on the threshold, half mindful to go in again.\n\nHow she paused with a sharp intake of breath at a gap overlooking the\n\nlough. Below her the islands lay like cattle shoulder deep in dark grass\n\nflank beyond flank down the dull silver of the water until the last merged in\n\nthe olive under dusk of the peninsula. He had wilfully misunderstood her.\n","Type":"Text"}}]