Page:New Hampshire (Frost, 1923).djvu/86

72 He read in one and I read in another, Both either looking for or finding something.

The attic wasps went missing by like bullets.

I was soon satisfied for the time being.

All the way home I kept remembering The small book in my pocket. It was there. The poetess had sighed, I knew, in heaven At having eased her heart of one more copy— Legitimately. My demand upon her, Though slight, was a demand. She felt the tug. In time she would be rid of all her books.