“I want to be your friend,” he said. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Her eyes quizzed the major. ’ ‘That is not your affair. But what a monster was this Emile. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him.
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