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The Well - Beloved

The Incarnation Is Assumed To Be True
It was difficult to meet her again, even though on this lump of rock the difficulty lay as a
rule rather in avoidance than in meeting. But Avice had been transformed into a very
different kind of young woman by the self-consciousness engendered of her impulsive
greeting, and, notwithstanding their near neighbourhood, he could not encounter her, try
as he would. No sooner did he appear an inch beyond his father's door than she was to
earth like a fox; she bolted upstairs to her room.
Anxious to soothe her after his unintentional slight he could not stand these evasions
long. The manners of the isle were primitive and straightforward, even among the well-
to-do, and noting her disappearance one day he followed her into the house and onward
to the foot of the stairs.
'Avice!' he called.
'Yes, Mr. Pierston.'
'Why do you run upstairs like that?'
'Oh--only because I wanted to come up for something.'
'Well, if you've got it, can't you come down again?'
'No, I can't very well.'
'Come, DEAR Avice. That's what you are, you know.'
There was no response.
'Well, if you won't, you won't!' he continued. 'I don't want to bother you.' And Pierston
went away.
He was stopping to look at the old-fashioned flowers under the garden walls when he
heard a voice behind him.
'Mr. Pierston--I wasn't angry with you. When you were gone I thought-- you might
mistake me, and I felt I could do no less than come and assure you of my friendship still.'
Turning he saw the blushing Avice immediately behind him.
 
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