It doesn’t matter. I might have told you the truth. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. For Mr Jarvis was beside himself when the letter come from Mr Charvill and he knew he’d lost you as well as Miss Mary. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors.
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