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Chapter 1
"Idoknow,Ethan,Ido.It’snearlyover—nearlyovernow,Ethan.JustforgetIstompedout,willyou?"
Andtheironfirebellclanged—onesinglestroke.
"It’sovernow,"saidJoey-boy."It’sallover—forayear."Hedriftedquietlyoutthroughthestoreroomandeasedthealleydoorshut.
Ethanraisedtheshadesandopenedthestoreagain,buttherewasn’tmuchtrade—afewbottle-of-milkandloaf-of-breadkids,asmalllambchopandcanofpeasforMissBorcherforherhot-platesupper.Peoplewerejustnotmovingaboutinthestreet.Duringthehalf-hourbeforesixo’clock,whileEthanwasgettingthingsreadytocloseup,notasoulcamein.Andhelockedupandstartedawaybeforeherememberedthegroceriesforhome—hadtogobackandassemblethemintwobigbagsandlockupoveragain.Hehadwantedtowalkdowntothebaysideandwatchthegraywavesamongthepilingsofthedockandsmelltheseawaterandspeaktoaseagullstandingbeakintothewindonamooringfloat.Herememberedalady-poemwrittenlongagobysomeonewhippedtofrenzybytheglidingspiralofagull’sflight.Thepoembegan:"Oh!happyfowl—whatthrillstheeso?"Andtheladypoethadneverfoundout,probablydidn’twanttoknow.
Theheavybagsofgroceriesfortheholidaysdiscouragedthewalk.EthanmovedwearilyacrosstheHighStreetandtookhiswayslowlyalongElmtowardtheoldHawleyhouse.
