The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. ” She looked at him doubtfully. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.
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