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winter streets she was lovely. Her back was straight,

her shoulders square, and her features were as the
features of a tiny goddess on a pedestal in a garden

in the dim light of a summer evening.
During the afternoon the school teacher had been

to see Doctor Welling concerning her health. The
doctor had scolded her and had declared she was in

danger of losing her hearing. It was foolish for Kate
Swift to be abroad in the storm, foolish and perhaps

dangerous.
The woman in the streets did not remember the

words of the doctor and would not have turned back
had she remembered. She was very cold but after

walking for five minutes no longer minded the cold.
First she went to the end of her own street and then

across a pair of hay scales set in the ground before
a feed barn and into Trunion Pike. Along Trunion

Pike she went to Ned Winters' barn and turning east
followed a street of low frame houses that led over

Gospel Hill and into Sucker Road that ran down
a shallowvalley past Ike Smead's chicken farm to

Waterworks Pond. As she went along, the bold, ex-
cited mood that had driven her out of doors passed

and then returned again.
There was something biting and forbidding in the

character of Kate Swift. Everyone felt it. In the
schoolroom she was silent, cold, and stern, and yet

in an odd way very close to her pupils. Once in a
long while something seemed to have come over

her and she was happy. All of the children in the
schoolroom felt the effect of her happiness. For a

time they did not work but sat back in their chairs
and looked at her.

With hands clasped behind her back the school
teacher walked up and down in the schoolroom and

talked very rapidly. It did not seem to matter what
subject came into her mind. Once she talked to the

children of Charles Lamb and made up strange, inti-
mate little stories concerning the life of the dead

writer. The stories were told with the air of one who
had lived in a house with Charles Lamb and knew

all the secrets of his private life. The children were
somewhat confused, thinking Charles Lamb must be

someone who had once lived in Winesburg.
On another occasion the teacher talked to the chil-

dren of Benvenuto Cellini. That time they laughed.
What a bragging, blustering, brave, lovable fellow

she made of the old artist! Concerning him also she
invented anecdotes. There was one of a German

music teacher who had a room above Cellini's lodg-
ings in the city of Milan that made the boys guffaw.

Sugars McNutts, a fat boy with red cheeks, laughed
so hard that he became dizzy and fell off his seat

and Kate Swift laughed with him. Then suddenly
she became again cold and stern.

On the winter night when she walked through
the deserted snow-covered streets, a crisis had come

into the life of the school teacher. Although no one
in Winesburg would have suspected it, her life had

been very adventurous. It was still adventurous.
Day by day as she worked in the schoolroom or

walked in the streets, grief, hope, and desire fought
within her. Behind a cold exterior the most extraor-

dinary events transpired in her mind. The people of
the town thought of her as a confirmed old maid

and because she spoke sharply and went her own
way thought her lacking in all the human feeling

that did so much to make and mar their own lives.
In reality she was the most eagerlypassionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionate soul

among them, and more than once, in the five years
since she had come back from her travels to settle in

Winesburg and become a school teacher, had been
compelled to go out of the house and walk half

through the night fighting out some battle raging
within. Once on a night when it rained she had

stayed out six hours and when she came home had
a quarrel with Aunt Elizabeth Swift. "I am glad

you're not a man," said the mother sharply. "More
than once I've waited for your father to come home,

not knowing what new mess he had got into. I've
had my share of uncertainty and you cannot blame

me if I do not want to see the worst side of him
reproduced in you."

Kate Swift's mind was ablaze with thoughts of
George Willard. In something he had written as a

school boy she thought she had recognized the
spark of genius and wanted to blow on the spark.

One day in the summer she had gone to the Eagle
office and finding the boy unoccupied had taken

him out Main Street to the Fair Ground, where the
two sat on a grassy bank and talked. The school

teacher tried to bring home to the mind of the boy
some conception of the difficulties he would have to

face as a writer. "You will have to know life," she
declared, and her voice trembled with earnestness.

She took hold of George Willard's shoulders and
turned him about so that she could look into his

eyes. A passer-by might have thought them about
to embrace. "If you are to become a writer you'll

have to stop fooling with words," she explained. "It
would be better to give up the notion of writing

until you are better prepared. Now it's time to be
living. I don't want to frighten you, but I would like

to make you understand the import of what you
think of attempting. You must not become a mere

peddler of words. The thing to learn is to know
what people are thinking about, not what they say."

On the evening before that stormy Thursday night
when the Reverend Curtis Hartman sat in the bell

tower of the church waiting to look at her body,
young Willard had gone to visit the teacher and to

borrow a book. It was then the thing happened that
confused and puzzled the boy. He had the book

under his arm and was preparing to depart. Again
Kate Swift talked with great earnestness. Night was

coming on and the light in the room grew dim. As
he turned to go she spoke his name softly and with

an impulsivemovement took hold of his hand. Be-
cause the reporter was rapidly becoming a man

something of his man's appeal, combined with the
winsomeness of the boy, stirred the heart of the

lonely woman. A passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionate desire to have him un-
derstand the import of life, to learn to interpret it

truly and honestly, swept over her. Leaning for-
ward, her lips brushed his cheek. At the same mo-

ment he for the first time became aware of the
marked beauty of her features. They were both em-

barrassed, and to relieve her feeling she became
harsh and domineering. "What's the use? It will be

ten years before you begin to understand what I
mean when I talk to you," she cried passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionately.

On the night of the storm and while the minister
sat in the church waiting for her, Kate Swift went to

the office of the Winesburg Eagle, intending to have
another talk with the boy. After the long walk in the

snow she was cold, lonely, and tired. As she came
through Main Street she saw the fight from the

printshop window shining on the snow and on an
impulse opened the door and went in. For an hour

she sat by the stove in the office talking of life. She
talked with passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionateearnestness. The impulse that

had driven her out into the snow poured itself out
into talk. She became inspired as she sometimes did

in the presence of the children in school. A great
eagerness to open the door of life to the boy, who

had been her pupil and who she thought might pos-
sess a talent for the understanding of life, had pos-

session of her. So strong was her passion that it
became something physical. Again her hands took

hold of his shoulders and she turned him about. In
the dim light her eyes blazed. She arose and

laughed, not sharply as was customary with her, but
in a queer, hesitating way. "I must be going," she

said. "In a moment, if I stay, I'll be wanting to kiss
you."

In the newspaper office a confusion arose. Kate
Swift turned and walked to the door. She was a

teacher but she was also a woman. As she looked
at George Willard, the passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionate desire to be loved

by a man, that had a thousand times before swept
like a storm over her body, took possession of her.

In the lamplight George Willard looked no longer a
boy, but a man ready to play the part of a man.

The school teacher let George Willard take her into
his arms. In the warm little office the air became

suddenly heavy and the strength went out of her
body. Leaning against a low counter by the door she

waited. When he came and put a hand on her shoul-
der she turned and let her body fall heavily against

him. For George Willard the confusion was immedi-
ately increased. For a moment he held the body of

the woman tightly against his body and then it stiff-
ened. Two sharp little fists began to beat on his face.

When the school teacher had run away and left him
alone, he walked up and down the office swearing

furiously.
It was into this confusion that the Reverend Curtis

Hartman protruded himself. When he came in
George Willard thought the town had gone mad.

Shaking a bleeding fist in the air, the minister pro-
claimed the woman George had only a moment be-

fore held in his arms an instrument of God bearing
a message of truth.

George blew out the lamp by the window and
locking the door of the printshop went home.

Through the hotel office, past Hop Higgins lost in
his dream of the raising of ferrets, he went and up

into his own room. The fire in the stove had gone
out and he undressed in the cold. When he got into

bed the sheets were like blankets of dry snow.
George Willard rolled about in the bed on which

had lain in the afternoon hugging the pillow and
thinking thoughts of Kate Swift. The words of the

minister, who he thought had gone suddenly in-
sane, rang in his ears. His eyes stared about the

room. The resentment, natural to the baffled male,
passed and he tried to understand what had hap-

pened. He could not make it out. Over and over he
turned the matter in his mind. Hours passed and he

began to think it must be time for another day to
come. At four o'clock he pulled the covers up about



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