Like the other people of Bidwell, Hugh did not like to see foreigners
about. He did not understand them and when he saw them going about the
streets in groups, was a little afraid. It was a man's duty, he thought, to
look as much as possible like all his fellow men, to lose himself in the
crowds, and these fellows did not look like other men. They loved color,
and as they talked they made rapid gestures with their hands. The Italian
in the road was with a woman of his own race, and in the growing darkness
put his arm about her shoulder. Hugh's heart began to beat rapidly and he
forgot his American prejudices. He wished he were a workman and that Clara
were a workman's daughter. Then, he thought, he might find courage to go to
her. His imagination, quickened by the flame of desire and running in new
channels, made it possible for him, at the moment to see himself in the
young Italian's place, walking in the road with Clara. She was clad in
a calico dress and her soft brown eyes looked at him full of love and
understanding.
The three workingmen had completed the job for which they had come back to
work after the evening meal, and now turned out the lights and came toward
the front of the shop. Hugh drew back from the door and concealed himself
by standing in the heavy shadows by the wall. So realistic were his
thoughts of Clara that he did not want them intruded upon.
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