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They turned again at the end of the platfor, averted stare was conscious of hi and swelling and tightening in its dignity, of its heavy swing to her shoulder as they turned

She could stave off the worst by not looking at his; the bright, yellow, sharp gabled station; the black girders of the bridge; the white signal post beside it holding out a stiff, black-banded arlitter and sweep of scythes; pointed blades co

Sed like the pieces of a puzzle, red brown and pure bright green, dovetailed under the high black bar of the bridge She supposed you could paint that

Turn

Clear stillness after the rain She caught herself s on the tiles with the harsh, joyous candour that he hated He walked noiselessly, with a jerk of bluff knickerbockered hips, raising hi about in her roos, with sha down her staircase, furtive, afraid Always afraid they would be found out

That would have ruined him

Oh well--why should he have ruined himself for her? Why? But she had wanted, wanted to ruin herself for hi the world with him If that could have been the way of it

Turn

That road over the hill--under the yellow painted canopy sticking out frooods station--it would be the Cirencester road, the Fosse Way She would traone

Turn

Heat the clock Three e, the train

He was carrying it off fairly well, with his tight red face and his stare over her head when she looked at hiht smile when she said "Good-bye and Good-luck!"

And her silly hand clutching theledge She let go, quick, afraid he would turn senti down heavily in his corner, blinking and puffing over his cigar

That was her knapsack lying on the seat there She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder

Cirencester? Or back to Stow-on-the-Wold? If only he hadn't coht If only he had let her alone