Maggie felt suffocated with heat and
persecuted by a strange weariness; she was suddenly so tired that it
was all that she could do to walk.
"I'm tired . . ." she murmured--"expecting you--afraid that you
wouldn't come."
"I believe that I would have come," he answered quite fiercely,
"even if I hadn't had the note--I was determined to see you to-night
some way. But you know, Maggie, it had better be for the last
time . . ."
"No," she said, whispering, "it's the first time."
"Let's sit down here," he said. "We're alone all right."
There was no seat near them. The trees made a cave of black above
them, and in front of them the grass swept like a grey beach into
mist. There was no sound save a distant whirr like the hum of a top
that died to a whisper and then was lashed by some infuriated god to
activity again.
They sat close together on the bench. She felt his arm move out as
though he would embrace her, then suddenly he drew back.
"No," he said, "until we've talked this out we've got to be like
strangers. We can't go on, you know, Maggie, and it's no use your
saying we can."
She pressed her hands tightly together.
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