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The
crickets
were
still
.
The
crickets
were
listening
.
The
night
was
listening
to
her
.
For
a
change
,
all
of
the
far
summer
-
night
meadows
and
close
summer
-
night
trees
were
suspending
motion
;
leaf
,
shrub
,
star
,
and
meadow
grass
ceased
their
particular
tremors
and
were
listening
to
Lavinia
Nebbs
’
s
heart
.
And
perhaps
a
thousand
miles
away
,
across
locomotive
-
lonely
country
,
in
an
empty
way
station
,
a
single
traveler
reading
a
dim
newspaper
under
a
solitary
naked
bulb
,
might
raise
up
his
head
,
listen
,
and
think
,
What
’
s
that
?
and
decide
,
Only
a
woodchuck
,
surely
,
beating
on
a
hollow
log
.
But
it
was
Lavinia
Nebbs
,
it
was
most
surely
the
heart
of
Lavinia
Nebbs
.
Silence
.
A
summer
-
night
silence
which
lay
for
a
thousand
miles
,
which
covered
the
earth
like
a
white
and
shadowy
sea
.
Faster
,
faster
!
She
went
down
the
steps
.
Run
!
She
heard
music
.
In
a
mad
way
,
in
a
silly
way
,
she
heard
the
great
surge
of
music
that
pounded
at
her
,
and
she
realized
as
she
ran
,
as
she
ran
in
panic
and
terror
,
that
some
part
of
her
mind
was
dramatizing
,
borrowing
from
the
turbulent
musical
score
of
some
private
drama
,
and
the
music
was
rushing
and
pushing
her
now
,
higher
and
higher
,
faster
,
faster
,
plummeting
and
scurrying
,
down
,
and
down
into
the
pit
of
the
ravine
.
Only
a
little
way
,
she
prayed
.
One
hundred
eight
,
nine
,
one
hundred
ten
steps
!
The
bottom
!
Now
,
run
!
Across
the
bridge
!
She
told
her
legs
what
to
do
,
her
arms
her
body
,
her
terror
;
she
advised
all
parts
of
herself
in
this
white
and
terrible
moment
,
over
the
roaring
creek
waters
,
on
the
hollow
,
thudding
,
swaying
,
almost
alive
,
resilient
bridge
planks
she
ran
,
followed
by
the
wild
footsteps
behind
,
behind
,
with
the
music
following
,
too
,
the
music
shrieking
and
babbling
.
He
’
s
following
,
don
’
t
turn
,
don
’
t
look
,
if
you
see
him
,
you
’
ll
not
be
able
to
move
,
you
’
ll
be
so
frightened
.
Just
run
,
run
!
