Ethan Frome | Chapter IX - Page 6

He dragged himself to his knees, the monstrous load on him moving with him as he moved, and his hand went over and over her face, and he felt that the twittering came from her lips…

He got his face down close to hers, with his ear to her mouth, and in the darkness he saw her eyes open and heard her say his name.

“Oh, Matt, I thought we'd fetched it,” he moaned; and far off, up the hill, he heard the sorrel whinny, and thought: “I ought to be getting him his feed…”

. . . . . .

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