I was trying even at the
time to decide how much of what I seemed to divine rather
than to perceive was imagination and how much reality.
And I was just about ready to contend that I also saw to
the north something like the faintest possible suggestion
of an eddy, such as would form in the flowing water below
a pillar or a rock--when I was rudely shaken up and jolted.
Trap, trap, I heard the horses' feet on the culvert.
Crash! And Peter went stumbling down. Then a violent
lurch of the buggy, I holding on--Peter rallied, and
then, before I had time to get a firmer grasp on the
lines, both horses bolted again. It took me some time to
realize what had happened. It was the culvert, of course;
it had broken down, and lucky I was that the ditch
underneath was shallow. Only much later, when reflecting
upon the incident, did I see that this accident was really
the best verification of what I was nearly inclined to
regard as the product of my imagination. The trees must
indeed have stood where I had seemed to see that quiet
reach in the fog and that eddy...
We tore along. I spoke to the horses and quietly and
evenly pulled at the lines.
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