Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/41

 They took the down express, The five-five. She had the seat by the window— He can’t keep— She sat there looking out And the fields were brown and raw from the spring plowing, The fields were naked, they were stretched out bare, Rigid, with long welts, with open wounds, Stripped— In the flat sunlight she could see The fields heave against the furrows, lift, Twist to get free— —his hands— Why, what’s the matter? We’re almost there now, only half an hour. And we’ll have our supper in our rooms. I’ve taken