Up went her
hands; she gave a little cry of dismay.
Instantly, then, Angelina was determined. She did not suppose that her
freedom would be for long, nor did she hope to have time to reach the
almond tree; but her small, stumpy legs started off down the path almost
before she was aware of it. She started, and Rose bumped against her as
she ran. She heard behind her cries; she saw in front of her the almond
tree, and then coming swiftly towards her a small boy with a hoop....
She stopped, hesitated, and then fell. The golden afternoon, with all
its scents and sounds, passed on above her head. She was conscious that
a hand was on her shoulder, she was lifted and shaken. Tears trickling
down the side of her nose were checked by little points of gravel. She
was aware that the little boy with the hoop had stopped and said
something. Above her, very large and grim, was her aunt. Some bird on a
tree was making a noise like the drawing of a cork. (She had heard her
nurse once draw one.) In her heart was utter misery. The gravel hurt her
face, the almond tree was farther away than ever; she was captured more
completely than she had ever been before.
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