Detention was merry for the other detainees. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. The man pulled up. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. "Children," said the aunt, first to awake, "be young fools as long as God will permit you.
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