He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. “You will have to eat soon,” he said cryptically. Practically. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. ’ ‘No, of course you could not,’ Gerald soothed. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other.
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