’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Something seemed awry. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire.
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