Explore "Diverging Roads" by Rose Wilder Lane on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Two weeks after she left the office her feet took her back to it, as if by volition of their own. The familiar walls, covered with photographs of alfalfa fields and tract maps painted with red ink, closed around her like the walls of home. Hutchinson sat smoking at his desk; nothing had changed. She said that she had only dropped in for a moment. How was business? Her eye automatically noted the squares of red on the maps. "Hello! That three-cornered piece by Sycamore Slough's gone! Who sold it?"
"Watson," said Hutchinson. "He's uncovered a gold mine in the Healdsburg country, selling the farmers hand over fist. Last week he brought down a prospect who -- " She heard the story to its end, capped it with one of her own, and two hours had passed before she realized it.