"Do you? Do you?" he whispered. "Oh, with those ghouls in the churchyard I can't even take your hand."
They crossed the bridge from the orchard and came round to the front of the house into full sunlight, and thence out of the dazzle into Guy's hall that was filled with watery melodies and the green light of their own pastoral world. Close they kissed, close and closer in the coolness and stillness.
"Pauline! I shall go mad for love of you."
"I love you. I love you," she sighed, nestling to his arms' enclosure.
"Pauline!"
"Guy!"
Each called to the other as if over an abyss of years and time.
Then Pauline said she must go back, but Guy reminded her of a book she had promised to read, and begged her just to come with him to the library.
"I do want to talk to you once alone in my own room," he said. "The evenings won't seem so empty when I can think of you there."
She could not disappoint him, and they went upstairs and into his green room that smelt of tobacco-smoke and meadowsweet. They stood by the window looking out over their territory, and Guy told for the hundredth time how, as it were, straight from this window he had plunged to meet her that September night.