"Of course not."
"Then good night." She extended her hand.
He took the hand. "Good night, and try not to worry too much. You're sure you'll be all right?"
"All right?" She half laughed at him, her eyes widening. "Why on earth shouldn't I be all right?"
"Nothing. Probably just a psychic fit like one of Frank Sharpless's. Pay no attention to it. But I'd hate anything to happen to you."
"You're nice," said Ann, after a pause, and pressed his hand.
Then she left him.
Courtney latched the iron gate, leaned over it, and glanced to his left up the lane. Its soft, unkempt grass deadened footsteps. On one side it was closed in by stone walls like one continuous wall, with the heads of fruit trees drooping above. On the other side, a line of elms closed it in as well, with a screen of bushes and stinging-nettles underneath. An apple had fallen here and there, to rot. It was a narrow little lane, in daytime haunted by wasps and at night full of an eerie oppressiveness.
Courtney watched her print frock move away from him and disappear.
He moved back from the gate, and felt in his pocket after his pipe. Hot tonight. Uncomfortably hot. He hadn't noticed this before.