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The sun was low in the sky when she stood there alone on the smooth field, with all the corn lying flat at her feet. Then she started binding. The air grew cooler. When the last sheaf was fastened in its straw-band and they now stood set up in heavy stooks, like black giants in straight rows, it began to grow dark.
"If you're ill ... if you can't go on, you'd better get home quick: you're standing there like a booby." Zeen left his sickle on the ground and went straight off the field. She saw him go slowly, the poor old soul, lurching like a drunken man, and disappear behind the trees. Then she took her straw-band and bundled up all the little heaps of corn, one after the other, and bound them into sheaves.
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