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“Yes, if you didn’t-?” He looked, while I waited, about at the graves. “Well, you know
what!” But he didn’t move, and he presently produced something that made me drop
straight down on the stone slab, as if suddenly to rest. “Does my uncle think what you
think?” I markedly rested. “How do you know what I think?” “Ah, well, of course I
don’t; for it strikes me you never tell me. But I mean does he know?” “Know what,
Miles?” “Why, the way I’m going on.” I perceived quickly enough that I could make, to
this inquiry, no answer that would not involve something of a sacrifice of my
employer. Yet it appeared to me that we were all, at Bly, sufficiently sacrificed to make
that venial. “I don’t think your uncle much cares.” Miles, on this, stood looking at me.
“Then don’t you think he can be made to?” “In what way?” “Why, by his coming
down.” “But who’ll get him to come down?” “I will!” the boy said with extraordinary
brightness and emphasis. He gave me another look charged with that expression and
then marched off alone into church.