Explore "Where their Fire is not Quenched" by May Sinclair on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was nobody in the orchard. Harriott Leigh went out, carefully, through the iron gate into the field. She had made the latch slip into its notch without a sound.
The path slanted widely up the field from the orchard gate to the stile under the elder tree. George Waring waited for her there.